


A Dream Itself is but a Shadow

by hope_savaria



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Debbie Pov, Domestic, Dreams, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Heist Wives, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Monologue, Married Couple, Married Life, Midlife Crisis, Minor Drug Use, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Heist, Self-Doubt, heavy on the comfort, more smut than I usually write but it just happened ok, no one dies in real life, past Debbie/Claude - Freeform, the nightmares get a little dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_savaria/pseuds/hope_savaria
Summary: "Dreams are toys." Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale (III, 3)...But not for Debbie. After the Met Job, after marrying Lou, and after a successful Honeymoon Heist, Debbie is visited by terrible nightmares. All she wants is to let her brain rest, but it seems the luxury of peace is one thing she cannot steal.Welcome to five days inside the brilliant and tumultuous brain of Deborah Ocean.





	1. Games

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, y'all! 
> 
> I've been wanting to write a piece involving dream sequences for a while, and this is what happened. There's a lot of talking also because the Debbie/Lou dialogue dynamic is just too good to pass up.
> 
> This is in the same headcannon as my other two Loubbie stories: Diamonds, Rust, & Opals and Sonata for Silence & Two Pairs of Stilettos. It references some stuff that takes place in those works, but anything you need to know is covered here. 
> 
> The chapters are on the longer side, so get ready for a ride. 
> 
> As usual, thanks to everyone who writes for this fandom/pairing, and to go_get_your_top_hat for beta-ing and also for being my girlfriend. <3 <3 <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROLOGUE
> 
> “What, was I married to her in my dream?” Comedy of Errors [II, 2]

“Did you see his face?”

“Which one?”

“The younger one. The one with the 80s Rolex – well, not anymore – but you know the one I mean. Oh, by the way, baby, I got you something.” Debbie reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out the watch. The diamonds inlaid in gold around the face glittered in the fluorescent lighting of the loft kitchen.

Lou held out her right hand to take the prize; her left was busy picking at the edging of a foam prosthetic nose still mostly attached to her face. She examined the watch with interest, and Debbie smiled at the focused expression on her face. Lou could never resist a nice Rolex. She turned the piece over and over in her fingers as Debbie watched, entranced.

“So, did you see his face?” Debbie prompted after a full minute of admiring Lou’s careful, expert eye.

“What?” Lou asked, finally looking up from the watch.

“His _face_ ,” Debbie repeated with a smirk, reaching over to help Lou with the prosthetic.

“Oh! Yeah,” Lou said, setting the Rolex – with no small degree of reverence – on the kitchen counter and reaching up to start undoing the pins of Debbie’s wig. “He looked pretty excited, didn’t he?”

“Yuppy idiot,” Debbie said with a smile and a slight shake of her head. She tossed the remains of Lou’s prosthetic nose towards the trash can at the end of the counter.  

Lou finished with Debbie’s wig and hairpins and placed them on the counter next to the watch. Her fingers unraveled the long strands of Debbie’s hair, tugging slightly at a few snarls. Debbie felt a tingling warmth in her temples. Even after all these years, it was amazing how these little touches from Lou made her feel so alive. Lou’s hand came to a stop, cupping Debbie’s jaw. She leaned into the pressure and closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the victory of a job well done – well, a job _almost_ done.

“It’s a beautiful watch, Debbie,” Lou said quietly. “But wasn't that a little risky?”

“What?” Debbie had been focusing on the feel of Lou’s hand against her skin rather than on her words.      

“It’s a vintage Rolex! Don’t you think he might suspect something if he notices it’s gone?”

“Nope.” Debbie opened her eyes and saw Lou’s looking straight back at her through the brown contacts she had worn for the disguise. Debbie felt a hint of mischief creep into her own expression, hinting that she knew something. Even with Lou, there was something exciting about being one step ahead.

Lou’s brow creased slightly in response to her expression. “Care to elaborate, Ocean?”

Debbie smiled. “Don’t you enjoy the mystery?” She placed a kiss on the inside if Lou’s wrist.

Lou shrugged and removed her hand from Debbie’s face with a light brush of fingertips against her hairline. “I prefer your explanations.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I’m hot when I’m clever?” Debbie grinned.

Lou winked and made a show of batting her eyelashes before tipping her head back to remove her contacts. Debbie swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly a bit dry from the sight of the long, exposed curve of Lou’s throat.

Debbie pulled herself together and said, “His wife is having a baby.”

“And?” Lou asked, her eyes now contact-free and back to their usual blue-gray.

“And he received fifteen text messages from her sister while he was in the meeting with us.”

“How do you know it was his wife’s sister?”

Debbie sighed. “Well, there’s a small possibility it could be her aunt or possibly one of _his_ relatives.” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. The point is, his wife is currently in labor. He saw the messages right after we left and was already hyperventilating in the back of a cab by the time we made it back here. He’ll probably notice the absence of the watch when the doctor announces the time of birth of his child, because everyone – _everyone_ – checks their watch when someone says what time it is. He’ll assume it fell off as he ran for a cab or in the cab itself or in the hospital. He’ll never suspect that the watch was gone minutes before he even noticed the first text, and he won’t much care because he’ll be busy fawning over his new baby.” Debbie took a deep breath as she finished speaking, admiring the astounded look on Lou’s face.

“You stole a vintage Rolex – which I happen to know is valued at more than twenty thousand dollars – from that man on the happiest day of his life?”

“Would you rather I stole it on the worst day of his life? I mean, I’m no paradigm of morality, but I like to think I don’t kick people when they’re down.”

Lou considered her with twinkling eyes. “Fair point,” she conceded with a shrug.

“Besides,” Debbie said, stepping forward towards Lou and picking up the watch from the counter, “it’s our honeymoon, and this…” She carefully fastened the watch around Lou’s left wrist before running a hand down her arm, clasping her hand, and raising it to eye level to see the effect of the watch next to Lou’s wedding ring. “…This looks much better on you, baby.” Debbie finished in a whisper. She brushed her lips over Lou’s knuckles.

“Like twenty thousand dollars?” Lou leaned close and whispered the words into Debbie’s ear. Her breath made Debbie shiver. 

Debbie turned her head, ghosting her lips over Lou’s mouth. “Better,” she whispered.

Lou hummed against Debbie’s mouth as their lips met. Debbie tugged Lou closer, deepening the kiss. Her lower back pressed into the counter behind her and everything around her was Lou, Lou, Lou. Not enough, not enough. _Never_ enough. Debbie slipped her hands under Lou’s blouse. It was actually one of Debbie’s – their disguises this afternoon had required something a little less steam punk than Lou’s typical wardrobe. Debbie had enjoyed dressing her in a business casual pantsuit that screamed “Debbie Ocean” instead of “Debbie Harry.” The silk rippled like water over her hands, and Lou’s skin was warm under her fingers. After several minutes, they broke apart. Lou laughed quietly as she leaned her forehead against Debbie’s. Debbie smiled, her eyes still closed.

“It’s still early,” Lou murmured.

“Do you have something in mind?” Debbie couldn’t keep a suggestive note out of her voice.

“Well,” Lou said, pulling back enough to see Debbie’s face. Debbie blinked her eyes open slowly. “Since it’s still our honeymoon—”

“With you it’ll always be our honeymoon, baby!” Debbie interrupted.

Lou placed a finger against Debbie’s lips. “Since it’s _still_ our honeymoon,” Lou said again, “what do you say to a drink?”

Debbie captured the pad of Lou’s finger between her teeth. “Sure,” she said, as Lou pulled her finger from Debbie’s mouth.

“What do you say to a _few_ drinks?” Lou asked with a grin.

“What do _you_ say to a few drinks and a Ferris wheel?” Debbie retorted slyly with a slight tilt of her head.

“Bold move, Ocean, returning to the scene of the crime.” Lou raised her eyebrows.

“Come on, baby, it’ll be fun. You can wear normal clothes again—”

“I thought you liked me in your clothes,” Lou interrupted, pretending to sound offended.

“Oh, I do, baby, but not as much as I like you in yours.”

Lou smirked and rolled her eyes. “Anything for you, honey,” she said in a vapid tone, making her way towards the staircase.

“Really?” Debbie asked, following her closely and reaching out to run a playful hand down Lou’s back. “Anything?”

“Almost anything.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.”

 

**

 

Less than an hour later, Debbie was matching Lou’s strides across the pavement towards the entrance to Luna Park. It was a Thursday, but Coney Island was as crowded as ever – perfect for pickpockets. Debbie snuck a few twenties out of the wallet of a tourist in a Hawaiian shirt and slipped one of the notes to Lou.

“I was serious about buying you a drink _with my own money_ , you know,” Lou said with a sidelong glance and a quirked eyebrow as she slipped the twenty dollars into the tight pocket of her leather pants.  

“My way is more fun.” Debbie took Lou’s hand and squeezed it. “Ferris wheel first?”

The sun was setting by the time they reached the front of the line, though it took much less time than it should have because Debbie snuck a VIP pass out of a woman’s purse. They had the car to themselves because Debbie made a show of being a lifelong New Yorker, teary-eyed at the prospect of her last ride on the Wonder Wheel. The guard looked scared, and the other passengers averted their eyes. As soon as the car started to move, Debbie wiped her eyes and scoffed.

“It’s not as if most New Yorkers care about this anyway,” she said, shaking her head at Lou.

“People will believe anything,” Lou said with a smile, sprawling across most of the car’s bench with Debbie nestled against her side. “And when you turn on the tears,” Lou continued over-dramatically, “I would challenge _anyone_ to be unmoved.”

Debbie smiled against Lou’s shoulder. She knew Lou was kidding, but there was an element of truth to it, nonetheless. Debbie knew how to get people to do what she wanted; it was a game to her. It was about _winning_ , about the thrill of getting away with it. Something about being up here – above it all – always cleared Debbie’s head. Seeing tiny dots of people wending their way far, far below her made her feel like a giant, yet as she looked at the setting sun casting orange light around them, she felt smaller than small – a mere speck in the expanding Universe.

“I like it up here,” Debbie murmured.

“I guess that makes you the only New Yorker who actually _does_ care about it,” Lou said, pressing a kiss to Debbie’s forehead.

“I’m from New Jersey, baby.”

“Oh, right. Have you mentioned that before? I feel like it doesn’t come up a lot.” Lou’s tone dripped sarcasm.

Debbie laughed quietly and wrapped both arms around Lou’s waist. “I didn’t use to care about it - _this_ ,” she said after a few minutes of breathing the scent of Lou’s perfume and admiring the view.

“Yeah?”

“Something about being locked up—”

“—Makes you appreciate things like amusement parks?”

“I guess.” Debbie shrugged contentedly. She tilted her head to look up at Lou, who raised her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Debbie’s ear.

“I love you,” Lou whispered.

“You sap,” Debbie whispered back fondly before sitting up straighter and pulling Lou into a kiss. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She never said it enough, even now. It was so much easier to _show_ Lou how she felt, so much easier to answer her with a sarcastic quip and make up the difference in love bites on Lou’s neck and with fingers that weren’t _only_ good at picking pockets. But sometimes it occurred to her that she should say it more often, say those words that had been her lifeline for more than twenty years. Debbie broke their kiss and moved her mouth slowly over Lou’s jaw to a spot right below her ear. She flicked out her tongue and felt Lou’s entire body quiver.

“Debbie, I swear to God, we are _not_ fucking on the Wonder Wheel,” Lou muttered breathlessly. “I am _not_ letting Daphne win that bet.”  

Debbie smiled against Lou’s skin and sucked hard to create a mark, then pulled away to hover her lips beside Lou’s ear. “I love you,” she murmured. The words were barely audible, but she knew Lou heard them by the way her breath hitched slightly as she clutched Debbie tighter.

The sun sank over Staten Island turning the clouds to fluffy pink that mirrored the puffs of cotton candy scattered throughout the crowds below. By the time they made it back to the ground, Debbie’s sentimental mood had passed, and she was more than willing to allow Lou to drag her off to a bar on the boardwalk with a Thursday Blood Mary special. The drinks arrived piled with pickles, cured sausages, cubes of cheese, and extremely large pieces of celery.

“What happens tomorrow?” Lou asked, leaning forward to take a sip from her straw.

“What do you mean?” Debbie took a bite of her pickle.

Lou rolled her eyes. “I _mean_ , what happens when they figure it out,” she said, “Go on, honey, impress me.” She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and sat back in the booth with her hands behind her head.

Debbie grinned and took a long sip of her drink instead of replying, taking time to run her tongue around the end of the straw as Lou watched her.

Lou rolled her eyes and sat forward again with her elbows on the table.

“Well,” Debbie began, reaching out to run her fingers through Lou’s bangs, “tomorrow morning, Mr. Zamperla will arrive in his office at precisely 9:02 am. He’ll be a little flustered, mostly because he’s not used to New York and does most of his business from Rome, and partly because he finds the barista at the Starbucks on 86th to be attractive, but she’s _at least_ thirty years younger than him.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah,” Debbie agreed and took a sip of her drink before continuing. She _liked_ this part of a con; it was why she didn’t pull anything but the smallest jobs by herself. It wasn’t that she _enjoyed_ being the center of attention (although Lou _was_ a special case in that regard), it was more that she thrived on seeing the pieces click into piece behind people’s eyes. “Anyway,” she continued, “Mr. Zamperla will assign his assistant to answering his emails. The assistant will open an urgent alert message from a bank in Italy saying that their most recent transaction didn’t go through. The assistant will call the bank’s American representative, thinking that it’s probably an administrative error.” Lou was grinning now, and Debbie plowed forward, reveling in the way her wife’s eyes sparkled across the table at her. “The assistant will be told that the money can’t be returned to the company until the bank hears from the sellers.”

“Us?” Lou asked.

“Us.” Debbie nodded. “Well, sort of. All of our interactions are automated, so officially, even our alter-egos won’t be seen as liable until they discover that the heiress we’re supposed to represent doesn’t _actually_ exist.” She slid a cocktail sausage from the skewer in front of her and chewed it slowly. “This is really good,” she added as an aside, nodding towards the Bloody Mary.

Lou hummed into her straw in agreement and gestured for Debbie to continue her explanation.

“We – or whoever the hell we were during that meeting—”

“Catherine and Sandra,” Lou interrupted.

“How do you remember stuff like that?” Debbie asked, legitimately curious. She even put her pickle back down on her napkin. “I always forget an alias by the time I take off the wig.”

“Well,” Lou answered, “How do _you_ remember the exact number of steps you took beyond that emergency exit before I caught up to you on the night we met?”

Debbie stared at Lou for a moment, taken aback in spite of herself. “I’m good with numbers.”

“Well, I’m good with names.” Lou shrugged and spoke the words as though they should have been entirely obvious. 

Debbie nodded slowly for a minute. She knew that, of course, but she had never but words to it. For Debbie, people were marks and aliases and accomplices. For Lou, they were…well, they were _people_. Interesting.

“So,” Lou said, snapping Debbie back to the present. “Catherine and Sandra represent a wealthy heiress who is selling a rollercoaster design to Mr. Zamperla’s corporation, yes?”

“Yes,” Debbie nodded. This was the part Lou already knew.

“And I take it the money is already out of the hands of both Zamerpla _and_ the bank?”

“Yes.” Debbie grinned and chewed on the end of her straw.  

“And when they start asking questions?”

“Well, I think it’s going to take them a very, very long time to interrogate an heiress who doesn’t actually exist, don’t you?” Debbie said with a smirk.

“And us?”

“Daphne found some pretty good disguises and those fake IDs were the best I’ve ever seen, which…” Debbie smirked. “…is saying something.”  

Lou shook her head slowly in admiration, her eyes sparkling. Debbie was fairly sure that – if she asked – Lou would fuck her right here on this table, never mind the forty-seven other people in the bar.   

“You think I’m hot when I’m clever,” Debbie said in a sing-song voice.

“I always think you’re hot.”

Debbie felt her cheeks grow warm, and she couldn’t prevent a warm smile from spreading across her face.

 

**

 

The night was turning chilly by the time they made their way back to the loft around 11 pm. If she was honest with herself, this was Debbie’s favorite time of year – late summer, when the days were warm, but the nights stirred with the slightest hint of the coming autumn. She always told people she liked spring the best for _fashion_ reasons, but nothing could beat the way the cool night air of late August soothed her skin, or the way Lou looked pulling on a leather jacket as a light breeze rose around them.

“Thanks, baby,” Debbie murmured, resting her head against Lou’s shoulder they paused on their threshold to unlock the door.

“For what?”

“For _tonight_ ,” Debbie elaborated as Lou pushed the door open, “I had fun.”

“Oh, honey,” Lou replied, pressing close so as to trap Debbie between her body and the brick wall just inside the door. “What makes you think tonight is over?”

Debbie felt her pulse quicken. “Is that a promise?” Her voice came out breathier than she intended.

“Of course,” Lou murmured, leaving a line of wet kisses along the left side of Debbie’s neck.

Debbie felt a whine escape from her lips and moved her hips forward into Lou’s thigh, feeling heat pooling deep in her abdomen and radiating a pleasant tingling sensation up the edges of her ribs and down the insides of her thighs. True, she’d been slightly aroused all evening. There was something about celebrating a heist with Lou that heightened all of her sensations, but it still amazed her that a few kisses to her neck and the low rumble of Lou’s voice could turn _her_ – Deborah Ocean, convicted felon and heir-apparent to the title of Most Formidable Criminal Mastermind in America – into _this_ : a desperate earthly body knotted with need and electricity.

“You _are_ hot when you’re clever, honey,” Lou whispered into her ear, her hands now running up Debbie’s sides under her shirt. “But it’s _nothing_ compared to this.”

Debbie couldn’t manage a response as Lou’s hands cupped her breasts over her lacy bra and squeezed. She stifled a moan against Lou’s shoulder, still desperate to find some purchase for her hips that seemed to be moving of their own accord. Lou stepped back in one smooth motion, and Debbie let out a tiny sound of protest – one that Lou would be sure to mention tomorrow with a proud smile. Lou took Debbie’s hand and tugged gently, the heat on pause for a moment.

“Let me take you to bed, Debs,” Lou said. Her voice was tender, though the effect was seductive as ever.

Debbie hummed contentedly and shoved herself off the wall to follow Lou upstairs. The bedroom that Lou had set aside for Debbie during prison hadn’t been slept in for well over a year, not since Lou returned from her post-Met Gala victory lap in California. Debbie still kept her clothes in there, mostly because they didn’t have enough room in Lou’s closet for both of their rather extensive (and constantly expanding) wardrobes. _Their_ room – which had been Lou’s until Debbie was released from prison (give or take a few days here and there of trying to rediscover what _they_ were) – was around the corner of the balcony, with windows that looked out over the bay. Lights reflected off the waves below from boats and buildings and stars.

Lou seemed to glow in the half-light. She pulled Debbie close as they entered the room, her mouth warm and gentle against Debbie’s, not yet burning, though potential and anticipation crackled under the surface. Lou moved so slowly that Debbie hardly noticed being pushed onto the bed until she was lying on her back with Lou hovering over her. Their eyes met, and all Debbie could think about was how much she _loved_ her, how much Lou _meant_. The feelings still felt so strange and new, even after all this time, as if her soul was still trying to make up for all the years they’d spent apart, all the years they’d tugged at each other.

“You’re beautiful,” Debbie whispered, and her blood sang as Lou smiled.

Debbie passed her hands under the shoulders of Lou’s leather jacket, pushing the heavy fabric over her bare arms. She leaned upwards to brush her lips over the newly exposed skin while running her fingers along the neckline of Lou’s black vest to the buttons at her sternum. She popped each one open, admiring the revelation of Lou’s bright red lacy bra. Lou’s eyelids fluttered as Debbie’s hands came to rest at the top of Lou’s ribcage, her thumbs brushing over the rough surface of the lingerie.

Lou’s hands moved gracefully down the front of Debbie’s blouse, undoing each button and chasing the exposed skin with her tongue. Debbie arched her back and Lou slipped a practiced hand around her to unclasp her bra. The garments joined Lou’s jacket and vest on the floor, and Debbie couldn’t contain a gasp as the cool night air tickled her skin. Lou bent her head and sucked hard on Debbie’s right nipple, and Debbie felt her whole body rise to meet Lou’s mouth. The warmth between them had exploded once more into flames, licking up her sides as she tugged at the waistband of Lou’s pants with one hand and unclasped her bra with the other. Lou’s hands trembled slightly as she helped Debbie out of her designer jeans, taking her underwear with them. Lou pulled away for a moment to sweep the clothing off the bed and remove her own pants, then she turned back to Debbie.

“I’m yours, baby,” Debbie said, looking up at Lou through eyelids that felt heavy with want.

“Mine?” Lou’s voice was almost inaudibly low, as if she were speaking to herself. She reached out and ran a finger from Debbie’s lower lip, down her neck, over her sternum to her stomach, pausing only when she reached the very edge of Debbie’s pubic hair.

“Yours,” Debbie groaned, her hips rising, chasing Lou’s single, teasing finger.

Lou settled a hand on Debbie’s hip to keep her still, now tracing slow circles lower and lower. Debbie watched Lou’s face grow focused and calm, knowing this was something Lou took pride in, knowing this was something that had always been about way more than sex. Debbie closed her eyes and smiled as Lou slid two long, familiar fingers inside her. Debbie lived on her talent for words, on her ability to convince and manipulate, but there were some things she would never be able to explain. She couldn’t explain why she loved bel canto operas, or why she always stole watches ( _specifically_ watches). She couldn’t explain why she never remembered her dreams, or why she always needed exactly four shades of lipstick in her purse at all times. And she definitely couldn’t explain the depth of _this_ – Lou around her, inside her, over her, _with_ her. Logic told Debbie that souls were a construct. Reason argued that Lou was just _that good_ with her fingers and her lips and her tongue (oh, _God_ , her tongue). But Debbie knew it was _more_ – more than just skill and more than just familiarity between two people who had been wrapped around each other for twenty years. She couldn’t name it, couldn’t pin it down. All Debbie knew was that – miraculously – it was _real_.

“Breathe, Debs,” Lou reminded her, her own breath coming in gasps as she coaxed Debbie towards release. Debbie took a shaky breath, her hands tangling in Lou’s platinum blonde hair. Lou’s mouth found the pulse point under her right ear, and her tongue sent a wave of sensation down Debbie’s body to pulse in the muscles now tightening around Lou’s fingers.

“I’m—” Debbie began, but her voice was too detached for words, and everything was warm and dark around her as she fell through space.

“Yours, yours, yours.” Lou’s voice anchored Debbie back to the bed. She felt Lou’s lips against her forehead, her cheek. Trembling, she pulled Lou over her, arms wrapping around her strong shoulders. Lou mumbled words into Debbie’s neck as she settled her weight on top of her.

“What, baby?” Debbie asked.

Lou raised her head a fraction of an inch. “I said, I hope you know how incredible you are.”

“Got nothing on you,” Debbie replied, placing a soft kiss to Lou’s temple.

Debbie’s pulse was still throbbing quickly, and she could feel the rapid beats of Lou’s heart against her diaphragm. The heat of Lou’s arousal was pressed up against Debbie’s left thigh. Debbie bent her knee experimentally and was rewarded with a soft moan and the gentle roll of Lou’s hips against her skin.

“You’re _soaked_ , baby,” Debbie whispered into Lou’s hair. She flexed her foot so that her thigh slid along Lou, eliciting another moan.

“All for you, honey,” Lou whispered, raising herself onto her forearms and grinding against Debbie’s leg. “All for you.”

Debbie traced circles over Lou’s back as her movements became more erratic against the firm muscles of Debbie’s thigh. She raised her head just enough to capture one of Lou’s nipples in her mouth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“ _Fuck_ , Debs,” Lou gasped above her.

Debbie smiled against Lou’s skin and moved her hands to Lou’s hips, helping her to maintain the friction against Debbie’s thigh. Debbie drank in the scent of Lou’s arousal mixed with her own, mixed with perfume and sweat and the breeze off the bay. She could never get enough of it, taking deep breaths as she felt Lou quaking above her. Lou trod a line between leather and lace, between silk and stone. Indeed, much of who they both were – separately and together – was a story told in fine fabrics and tailored jackets. But here, where no one else intruded, all of that fell away, and the intimacy was all the more poignant for it.

They lay together for a while in silence, letting their breaths return to a normal cadence. Debbie ran a finger absentmindedly over the gold watch on Lou’s wrist – the newly acquired 80s Rolex. Somehow, it complimented the opals of Lou’s engagement ring so perfectly that it seemed the watch had always been there. Lou caressed Debbie’s head against her chest, letting her fingers run through her hair. Debbie was the first to move, roused by the chilliness of the room. She slid out of Lou’s embrace with one last kiss to her chest, and Lou followed her a second later. They moved around each other easily, removing makeup and passing the toothpaste. No one watching their easy domesticity would guess that they had just grifted – or were in the process of grifting – just under twenty-five million dollars from an international amusement park monopoly, but that was how it was supposed to be. That was the game.

When they crawled back into bed, Debbie nestled close to Lou under the blankets, breathing in the heavy aromas that still lingered around them: salt and sex and success. She loved the game, and she loved Lou. She couldn’t ask for anything more, couldn’t remember ever being this content. As she drifted off to sleep, a strange and half-formed thought darted across her mind, hardly recognized for what it was: _Only Lou._ Even in a cloud of sated blurriness, Debbie grasped at the idea, letting it tumble in her mind like smoke on the wind. _Maybe Lou is all I need._


	2. Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACT I
> 
> “There’s little of the melancholy element in her…she is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I have heard [her] say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing.” Much Ado about Nothing [II, 1]
> 
> “True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind.” Romeo and Juliet [I, 4]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be posting every 5 or 6 days depending on my work schedule. Stay tuned! :)

Debbie awoke early the next morning. After all, the Honeymoon Heist (as Lou had affectionately dubbed it) still had a few loose ends, and she needed to be sure that everything was in place before Mr. Zamperla’s assistant read the email from the bank a little after 9 am. She had always been a morning person, and her brain never seemed to be able to sleep for more than seven hours at a time anyway, so she figured it was better to take advantage of that when she could. In prison, it had served her well – curfew and early-morning roll call were two of the only things she could actually get behind in that hell hole. Despite her penchant for criminality, Debbie loved routines and schedules and military-style rigidity. Other people might find it oppressive, but she found it comfortable and (often) comfort _ing_.

Gentle so as not to awaken her, Debbie slowly lifted Lou’s wrist from where it lay across her and checked the time on the newly-acquired gold and diamond watch. It was only a little past 7 am. She tucked herself back under the covers for a few minutes, savoring the warmth of Lou’s body beside her and letting her gaze travel over her peaceful expression and her sprawling limbs. She was lying on her stomach, her left arm flung possessively over Debbie’s chest, and her right dangling off the side of the bed. Her left knee was bent, resting against Debbie’s hip, while her right leg stretched straight to the very end of the bed. Not for the first time, Debbie noticed how thin she was. True, she looked less emaciated than she had when she came to visit Debbie in prison more than four years ago, but even now her skin pulled uncomfortably taught across her spine. Debbie supposed that Lou had always been a bit gangly; life had been hard on her, and a little over a year of peace wasn’t enough to erase that hardship. Debbie herself hadn’t fared much better, but it was easier to notice the effects on someone else’s skin rather than her own. Even the scar she’d acquired in prison didn’t always feel like hers. An overwhelming feeling of fondness rose in Debbie’s chest as she watched Lou sleep. She pressed her lips to Lou’s left shoulder, the only piece of her she could reach without disturbing her.

“I love you.” She mouthed the words against Lou’s smooth skin. “I love you, and I’ll never be able to say it enough, but I’ll try.”

Using all of her considerable stealth, Debbie slid from the bed and pulled on one of Lou’s shirts and a pair of her underwear. Given their combined wealth, there really wasn’t any reason for them not to be living somewhere with a closet big enough to accommodate both of their clothes, but they had stayed in the loft for the memories. If that didn’t prove they were both going soft with age, Debbie didn’t know what could. Downstairs, Debbie started the kettle and picked up her burner phone to call Nine Ball. Technically, the Honeymoon Heist could have been a two-person job, but they had needed better hacking than either herself or Lou could handle, and Nine Ball was their first choice.

“What up, boss?” Nine Ball answered on the first ring, which Debbie appreciated.

“Tell me where we’re at,” Debbie said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

“You check for bugs?”

Debbie flipped the phone over, popped the back off it and assessed the contents. “Clear,” she said, sliding the back panel into place and putting the phone up to her ear once more.

“The automatic response is all set up. I’ll text your normal phone when it goes through. It’ll be emojis or some shit like that. Good?”

“Fine. It’ll probably be around 11 am.” Debbie knew it would be 10:47 am, but most people found it weird when she got that specific, so she tried not to unless it was absolutely necessary.  

“Got it,” Nine Ball replied.  

“Did you get into Zamperla’s New York account?”

“Yeah, boss, that shit simple as _fuck_. Guess what his password was?”

“What?”

“I-l-c-0-E-i-n-d.”

“How is that simple?”

Nine Ball sighed. “It’s ‘I love Coney Island’ with a bunch of letters missin’.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I’ll block all of his outgoin’ messages until tomorrow and keep you in the loop on what I see. By that time, the money will be secure. I already changed the name of the incomin’ transaction to something that makes it look like you two won big in Atlantic City. The outgoin’ transaction from Zamperla is still listed as goin’ to…” Debbie heard Nine Ball tapping a few keys on her laptop. “…Elizabeth Tudor.”

Debbie smirked at the name Lou had chosen for their make-believe heiress as she poured hot water over a tea bag in her favorite mug.  

“Really?” Nine Ball prompted.

“What?” Debbie responded innocently.

“Like as in the _Virgin-ass Queen_?”

“I guess you know your monarchs,” Debbie conceded, slightly surprised, though Nine Ball’s knowledge base was continually astounding. She always beat everyone at Trivial Pursuit when Tammy insisted on having Game Night. “At least it’s not like we chose the _current_ queen,” Debbie said defensively.

“You really put a _lot_ of faith in people being idiots.” Nine Ball sounded casually impressed.

“Always have.”

“Same. Okay, have a good one, boss. I’ll be in touch. Say hi to your girl.”

“Will do. Thanks, Leslie.”

“Don’t call me Le—”

Debbie hung up the phone with a smirk before Nine Ball finished her sentence. She sipped her tea and gazed across the room at the tall windows, watching pigeons swoop down from the eaves to the ground and back again. What would it be like, she wondered, if her brain wasn’t always running a mile per minute? What would it be like to just _live_? What would it be like to watch pigeons without counting them, without guessing the angles of their wings and their speeds? What would it be like to lead the “simple life” she had described in her parole hearing? True, she loved the simplicity with Lou – the way the two of them just _fit_ , but why couldn’t that be enough, at least between jobs? Why couldn’t her brain just _rest_?

Debbie rubbed a hand over her forehead and put her empty mug on the counter. She picked up her regular phone and texted a simple “thank you” to Daphne, who probably wouldn’t respond, but Debbie really did appreciate her help with the disguises. Trying to think of nothing, Debbie sank onto the couch with her tattered copy of _Sherlock Holmes_. The old words helped; they always did. Normally she used the book for inspiration. She liked the way that Holmes always had a project or an experiment, even when he wasn’t working. She liked the way he knew _so much_ about things that seemed trivial to others but were vital to him (like tobacco ash and soil). Last year, she had taken a leaf out of his book and had learnt every last street of New York City. It was her way of keeping her mind from wandering.

It occurred to her now, in the morning quiet, that she had never really thought about _why_ the wandering made her nervous. What was wrong with calculating the flight speeds of pigeons over a cup of tea? She clutched a few touchstones close to her chest: bel canto operas and Bach, _Sherlock Holmes_ and the _New York Times_ style section – inspirations for figuring out what to learn next: area codes or streets? Laws of the State of New York or types of tobacco ash? It was all a mishmash of information to keep her head together. But what made her so sure that it would fall apart if she just _relaxed_? The answers seemed to dance just out of her reach, a jumbled mixture of the days when she and Lou had lived in hotels and scraped a few thousand a week at Bingo games, and the days with Claude, who had convinced her to appreciate _art_ for his own nefarious ends. She had let her guard down both times, allowed herself to become distractible. Both times, her world had crumbled. But now…

Now, she was content, happier than she had ever been in her life. She had Lou, and she had _friends_ , which was still a novelty. Claude was in prison. Logically, there was no better time to let her mind wander. Plus, there was always the possibility that she could follow the twisting trails inside her head to an even bigger, better, bling-ier job than the Met Heist. It wouldn’t be any sort of retirement; it would just be something new.

Debbie placed her well-worn, well-loved copy of _Sherlock Holmes_ on the end table next to Lou’s garish skull lamp and walked back into the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and filled the kettle, adding enough water for Lou this time. She went back to watching the pigeons. This time, she tried to think about the iridescent patches on the top of their wings instead of about their flight speed. It felt contrived, but not uncomfortable. The water boiled. Debbie dropped tea bags into her own mug and Lou’s and filled both of them. She pulled the milk from the fridge and poured a bit into Lou’s cup. Debbie turned back to the kitchen island and slipped both of her phones – the burner and the smartphone – into the chest pocket of her shirt ( _Lou’s_ shirt). Picking up the cups of tea and walking carefully so as not to spill any of the hot liquid, Debbie made her way back upstairs.

Lou was still sprawled across the bed, but she had turned over onto her back. Her chest rose and fell slowly and steadily. Debbie didn’t want to wake her, but she knew Lou would hate to miss watching Nine Ball’s texts come in as each loose end was tied. Debbie placed her own cup of tea on Lou’s bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed with Lou’s mug in her hands. The steam swirled in the breeze from the still-open window. Debbie reached out a hand and carded her fingers gently through Lou’s hair.

“Lou,” Debbie murmured.

Lou’s eyelids fluttered and her breathing changed its tempo.

“ _Lou_ ,” Debbie said slightly louder, now stroking her cheek. “Baby, wake up.”

“Tea?” Lou grunted quietly without opening her eyes.

Debbie snorted with laughter, and even Lou’s mouth twitched slightly. Lou’s left hand rose from where it had been dangling off the bed. She ran her fingers slowly up the outside of Debbie’s calf, over her knee, all the way up to where the loose fabric of Debbie’s shirt lay against her thigh. Debbie shivered at the touch, but Lou’s hand kept moving, now grasping blindly for the mug in Debbie’s hand. Lou sat up slowly with her eyes still closed, bringing the cup to her lips and blowing on the tea before taking a sip. She leaned back against her pillows as she swallowed and finally blinked her eyes open.

“What are you staring at, Jailbird?”

“You,” Debbie said frankly, though she hadn’t noticed she was staring.

Lou smiled and took another gulp of tea. Debbie picked up her own mug, and for a few minutes, they sat in silence. It was the silence, Debbie thought, that made Lou special. Debbie had never been able to sit in silence with anyone – at least not comfortably. Sometimes she was forced to do so for a disguise, but it made her anxious. Every tiny noise would seem amplified, and all the words she wanted to spew would build in her throat until she had to swallow them down like pills. But Lou was different. With Lou, silence was…actually silent. It wasn’t a dull ache of anticipation, or an expanse of words unspoken. The silences with Lou burst with life and energy and truth. A nuanced glance here, a casual touch there – their silences held secrets that only the two of them understood.

As 9 am ticked neared, Debbie finally spoke. “I brought the phones so you don’t have to get up.”

Lou hummed gratefully, and then asked, “You talk to Leslie?”

“Yup. She’s on it. Oh, and I thanked Daphne for the fake noses and the contacts.”

Lou nodded and sipped her tea before putting it down on the bedside table and reaching out to take Debbie’s hand. She tugged gently, and Debbie crawled (somewhat gracelessly) over Lou to her own side of the bed. Lou handed over her mug.

“Thanks,” Debbie said. “Here.” She pulled out the phones and set them on the sheets between them. “Nine Ball likes the name you chose.”

“What, for the heiress?”

“Yeah.”

Lou smiled proudly. “She would. Nothing like framing a sixteenth century monarch for…what is this? Rollercoaster fraud?”

“Rollercoaster forgery?”

“Right.” Lou snickered and leaned her head back against the pillows, eyes closed, but still slightly crinkled with her smile. “Something like that.”

Debbie watched her over the rim of her mug. Lou cracked open one eye.

“You’re staring at me again.”

“Just admiring the view.” Debbie winked.  

Lou scoffed.

Debbie’s phone buzzed between them, and with that, the morning sped up. Every few minutes, a series of emojis arrived from Nine Ball, confirming that yet another part of their plan had fallen into place. Lou got restless about an hour in (once the caffeine reached her brain) and began arranging the suits in her closet by color, occasionally asking Debbie’s opinion on whether something was more of a teal or a turquoise. Debbie’s brain clicked over contingency plans, erasing unnecessary escape routes as they became redundant. She crossed off items ten and eleven on her list. All that remained was the final piece – the deposit. Lou flopped down next to her wearing a purple velvet top hat, a matching vest (unbuttoned), and a pair of white satin boy-shorts.

“Why are you dressed like a slutty mad-hatter?” Debbie asked without looking up as she dialed Nine Ball’s number into the burner phone.

Lou took off the top hat and put it on Debbie’s head, looking at her with an appraising eye. “It suits your coloring better than mine. You should wear purple more often, honey.”

Debbie took off the hat and threw it at Lou as she held the phone to her ear.

“Hey, boss,” Nine Ball said as she answered the phone.

Debbie tapped the speaker phone button and put the burner between herself and Lou. “Just wanted to be in touch for the deposit.”

“We want our money,” Lou added, now twirling her hat around one finger.

“Comin’ right up,” Nine Ball replied, “They’re running security on it now.” Debbie held her breath, and Lou abandoned the top hat to reach over and squeeze her hand, her face suddenly serious once more. “Okay, preliminary check is clear,” Nine Ball continued after a moment. Debbie could hear her tapping away on her laptop. Debbie stayed quiet, waiting. “Second check coming through now,” Nine Ball said after a minute. “It’s taking a minute, let me try to get the system to bypass it.” Debbie looked up and caught Lou’s eye with a smile. Lou grinned back.

“She’s good,” Lou mouthed. Debbie raised her eyebrows and nodded.  

“Okay, you’re clear on that. One more check…” Nine Ball was still tapping away. The noise was somehow soothing, and Debbie felt her whole body relax, leaning against Lou on the bed. Lou’s hand trailed through her hair.

Another minute passed, then: “’Aight you’re clear. The fresh dollars are in.”

Debbie smiled and felt a familiar warmth spread to the very tips of her fingers and toes. God, she _lived_ for this – for the game, and for the feeling of Lou right there by her side, now pressing kisses onto the top of Debbie’s head.  

“Thanks, Nine,” she said, “Let us know if anything looks weird. In the meantime, take your cut and we’ll see you in a few days. Daphne’s invited herself and everyone else to our place for lunch on Sunday, sound good?”

“You got it, boss. See y’all.”

The line went dead, and Debbie leaned forward to cross off the final item on her list before crumpling up the piece of paper and tossing it to Lou, who threw it across the room in the general direction of the wastepaper basket. Debbie shut down both phones, tossing the burner to the floor and placing her own on the bedside table. Then she turned to Lou.

“So, baby, what do you think?”

Lou smiled and put the top hat back on Debbie’s head. “I think that was the best honeymoon I could have dreamed of.”

Debbie smirked and moved to straddle Lou’s hips, settling onto her lap with their faces nearly touching. “Really?” she murmured.

“Definitely,” Lou replied, her hands coming to rest on Debbie’s hips under her shirt.

Debbie bent and kissed her, trying to put all the words that never quite sounded right into the movement of her lips and tongue: _Without you, it doesn't work. Thank you. I love you._ Lou kissed back fiercely, catching Debbie’s lower lip between her teeth. In one smooth motion, Lou flipped them over so Debbie was on her back. Her hands slid under the waistband of Debbie’s underwear, and Debbie lifted her hips slightly to help Lou remove them. The top hat rolled off the bed with a *clunk* that neither of them noticed. Lou knelt between Debbie’s thighs and took her right leg between her hands, kissing the sensitive skin at the inside of her knee and licking up her thigh before turning her attention to the other leg to place soft kisses and sharp bites leading up, up, up…Debbie moaned as Lou’s tongue trailed closer to the heat between her legs.

“Want you,” she managed, and it seemed to be all the encouragement Lou needed. Her arms circled Debbie’s hips and raised them just enough to give herself a better angle. Debbie’s brain seemed to short circuit. Her hands came to rest in Lou’s hair, careful not to pull too hard. The world condensed into sensations that Debbie couldn’t describe as Lou worked her tongue over her. She couldn’t keep track of the motions, but each one felt like a revelation. The pressure built in her core all too quickly, and before she knew it her toes were curling into the mattress, and Lou’s hands gripped her more firmly as her whole body trembled. Everything was light and warmth and _Lou_.

Lou moved up the bed and lay next to Debbie, leaning in to kiss her. Debbie could taste herself on Lou’s lips, as well as the bitter tang of the tea she had drunk. The taste made her head spin, and she hummed against Lou’s mouth. The kiss was languid and warm, and it seemed to hold her entire body in its spell. Everything was soft and close, and for several minutes, nothing seemed to matter but _them_.

“Baby?” Debbie said finally, breaking the kiss and pulling back to look into Lou’s eyes.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m going to take a break.”

“What do you mean?” Lou’s brow creased slightly as her eyebrows raised.

Debbie nestled closer to Lou so their bodies touched from shoulder to ankle. “I mean, I know there will be other big jobs.” Lou rolled her eyes. “One day, there will,” Debbie continued. “But I want to see what it’s like to just be here. No jobs – well, nothing significant.”

“Meaning you still wouldn’t be caught dead paying for makeup.”

“Right,” Debbie agreed. “But I want to know…” She trailed off, unsure of how to explain what she wanted outside of her own head.

“Do you want to learn something else?” Lou asked. “You could do…I don't know…types of Rolexes?” She gestured to the diamond-studded watch on her left wrist.

Debbie smiled but shook her head. “No, I want to see what happens if I just…live. Read some books, catch up on what I missed in prison, maybe help you with the club.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going straight,” Lou said propping herself up on her elbow to look down at Debbie.

Debbie stared at her for a second and raised her eyebrows, unable to resist the joke. “Does this…” She gestured pointedly to their entwined bodies. “…seem straight to y—”

“You know what I mean, honey,” Lou said in a tone of mock-frustration, sinking back onto the pillows beside her.

“I do,” Debbie conceded seriously, “And no. It doesn’t. I’m not retiring. I still won’t buy my own drinks, and you’ll end up with just as many watches. I promise.”

“But?”

“But I want to see what it’s like to…relax.”

Lou nodded slowly and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on the corner of Debbie’s mouth. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised. Never thought you’d ever want to calm down.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Debbie said, somewhat pensively, “It’s more that I want to see if I _can_.”

Lou looked back at her with an oddly proud expression. “Then I guess we’ll see what happens.”

 

**

 

The clouds rolled in at around 2 pm, and within an hour of their arrival, Debbie could barely see through the high windows on the main floor of the loft as the rain poured down. Lou had made lunch while Debbie cleaned the remnants of the Honeymoon Heist from the downstairs bathroom-turned-strategy chamber. She shredded the forged rollercoaster blue prints and the fake IDs, flushed the burner phone down the toilet, and tore up the photos and notes on all of the marks. When she had finished, the only items remaining in the room were the photograph of Danny, the calendar (she used code words on there, so it didn’t matter if it stayed up), and the Luna Park VIP Pass. She thought about shredding it but ended up pocketing the card at the last moment. She always kept something from a job well done. Last time, it had been her dress and Lou’s green jumpsuit, much to the chagrin of Tammy who had needed to come up with excuses when she couldn’t return the pieces. This time, it was the twenty-thousand-dollar Rolex on Lou’s wrist and a laminated card that meant she could ride the Wonder Wheel whenever she wanted.

After finishing the purge of evidence, she had gratefully accepted a sandwich from Lou. They had eaten quickly and then curled up together on the couch because – as Lou pointed out – there was no time like the present to start Debbie’s “Relaxation Experiment.” Debbie lay with her head in Lou’s lap, listening to the rain and making her way steadily through the _New York Times_ crossword puzzle.

“Aren’t the Friday ones supposed to be hard?” Debbie asked.

Lou didn’t look up from her motorcycle magazine. “I mean, for normal people, yeah, but I don’t think they really cater to criminal masterminds.”

Debbie chewed on the end of her pen and nestled her head further into Lou’s thigh.

“You cold?” Lou asked, looking down at her. The rain had brought an unseasonably clammy chill into the loft.  

Debbie nodded, and Lou shifted so she could pull the blanket out from behind Lou’s shoulders. Lou put down her magazine and helped Debbie spread the blanket over herself. It was almost too comfortable, lying there surrounded by warmth despite the rain pattering against the windows. Debbie yawned contentedly and picked up her crossword puzzle once more. After a few minutes, she felt her eyelids growing heavy, and her immediate instinct was to jolt herself awake. Generally speaking, Debbie didn’t take naps, not unless she was sick. Naps messed with her routine.

As if she had read her thoughts, Lou spoke. “You can sleep, Debs. I’ll make sure it’s not too long.”

“You sure?” Debbie asked through a yawn.

Lou hummed an affirmation and settled one hand on Debbie’s head, playing with her hair. Perhaps she really _could_ get used to this, Debbie thought, as the sounds of the rain faded to a dull murmur and her body sank into the cushions and into Lou. Her breaths became slower and deeper, and everything would be fine because Lou would wake her up soon.

“Sweet dreams, Jailbird,” Lou whispered. Her voice sounded miles and miles away.

 

**

 

Darkness radiated outwards from Debbie’s body, collecting in an ever-expanding blankness that went on and on. It was infinite perhaps, but what did that mean when she was the center? She was floating alone. There were no lights, no sounds, no feelings at all: space – the ultimate vacuum. There were no stars, no breaks in the emptiness. Debbie registered that it was strange, and how was she breathing? _Was_ she breathing? Or maybe she didn’t need to here – wherever _here_ was (everywhere…nowhere). She couldn’t see her own body in the darkness. Her limbs felt detached. Did she exist at all? Without breath, without light, without…anything, there was a gnawing sensation at the corner of her mind that she should panic. But even emotions seemed blank – unreachable in the starless void.

She became aware – in an instant, in an eon of time – that far away, red streaks of light flickered in the blackness. They were tiny and so very remote – unimportant, except they were _everything_ , the _only_ thing. No up, no down, but those lights were all around her far, far away. Was it her imagination, or were the lights growing larger, chasing ahead of an even deeper darkness? Suddenly, her own darkness seemed comfortable and safe compared to the shadows closing in. Yet still, she didn’t worry, even though a pang in her heart – did she have a heart? – told her she should. But what could possibly harm a disembodied thought, which – as far as she could tell – was all she was?

And then a star – a bright point of light out of _nothing_. It moved towards her – or perhaps grew larger – through the blackness. She’d forgotten about gravity in its absence, but now there was the slightest tug – the hint of _presence_. The bright light grew so slowly that it was almost imperceptible, but eventually Debbie looked down upon an island in the void. Her own body was still hidden, or perhaps not there at all, but this thing in front of her seemed solid. A round circle of green grass shone below her, so bright she was blinded for a moment after the intense black. It was encased in a bubble of reality, where light and gravity still lived. Above the grass the light shone blue like the sky, only to be cut off by the emptiness above (around).

Debbie realized – though perhaps she’d known forever – that there was a chair on the grass. It was a white chair, a rocking chair, simple and wooden and entirely unremarkable. Or perhaps it _was_ remarkable – just like the red lights before – because it was alone. And the grass was alone. And she was alone. _Alone_. Debbie wondered at that, at last. It hadn’t really occurred to her before, and she didn’t really know how long she had been here, but it hadn’t been forever. And before…well, she hadn’t been alone before. Debbie clung to that fact and gazed down at the tiny piece of grass below her, next to her, in front of her in the vast emptiness. The red streaks of light became more defined at the corners of her sight, but she ignored them, transfixed by the grass and the sky and the chair – the tiny bubble of _existence_.

All at once, there was a person in the chair below. The woman rocked back and forth, back and forth, never ceasing the rhythm. Debbie watched her transfixed. She couldn’t make out her face, or perhaps she didn’t have one, though Debbie could hear her hum sometimes or laugh quietly to herself. The rhythm of the chair was persistent, insistent. It was anxious, perhaps, Debbie realized in an objective sort of way, and yet the thought made the gnawing sensation in her brain grow stronger. She registered the red lights again. They had grown larger, and the deeper blackness behind them was crystallizing into great columns of solid, impenetrable… _something_. Emotions still as remote as ever, Debbie realized that the little bubble of reality would be crushed between the columns as in the teeth of the trap, or perhaps impaled. Either way, the red lights blinked a constant threat of destruction. She missed _alone_. Alone was safe, unchangeable.

The woman in the chair was laughing more regularly now. The sound rose and fell from deafening to barely audible in a split second. The red lights moved closer, the columns behind them like battering rams approaching their target, and Debbie knew these fortress doors would fall. And she…what was she? Still a mere thought as thin as air – or thinner perhaps? Close to _nothing_ , nothing at all? Immortal like an idea, or crushable like an ant? Her body still eluded her, and yet fear was beginning to set in where only apathy and impassivity had rested before. Debbie was suddenly acutely aware that she was adrift – adrift in a vacuum with no air, no gravity, no hope, no…anything. The woman below was laughing constantly now, a harsh sound in the nothingness – almost maniacal. The battering rams closed in.

And suddenly, she _was_ the woman in the chair – or she had been all along. Sensation rushed back in such an overwhelming wave that she could think of nothing else for a moment (or an eternity). Debbie flexed her fingers, licked her lips, felt the pounding of her panicked heart. More than anything she felt the pressure, the weight – the return of _mass._ Gravity was suddenly very, very real again – it was hard to say whether she felt relief at its return or resentment at its inescapability. _Just let me go. Let me float away._ She rocked the chair back and forth, back and forth – unable to stop. Her whole body quaked in fear, and all she could do was watch, trying to rock herself to tranquility as if she herself was both comforting mother and wailing child.

The grass was soft and even around her; the sky shone blue. But still she was aware of the oncoming threat – the deeper darkness closing in. She could still see the shrinking void outside, still sense the red streaks of light that gleamed of oblivion. Every so often – released by some build-up of potential energy – one of the red lights would shoot forward, almost puncturing the bubble of reality around her. Each one came nearer, and any second now, everything would stop, would _end_. The woman’s laughter continued on and on and on, and it was her own voice and her own cracked breath. She laughed as death closed in. Laughing, laughing, laughing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dream described here is actually a recurring nightmare that I had as a child (more or less). I didn't realize that it might seem like a reference to Gravity (2013) until I was rereading and was like "oh look! Sandy B.'s floating through space again." 
> 
> On that note, I'm actually working on a Debbie/Lou Gravity AU/Crossover. It's in very early drafts, so it will be a while, but I would love to hear people's thoughts on it or bounce ideas around with anyone who is interested in that.


	3. Serpents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACT II
> 
> “Help me…help me! do thy best To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! Ay me, for pity! what a dream was here! ...Look how I do quake with fear: Methought a serpent eat my heart away, And you sat smiling at his cruel pray.” Midsummer Night’s Dream [II, 2]

A clap of thunder shook the entire warehouse, and suddenly Debbie was in the loft again. But why could she still hear laughter? She could see droplets of water cascading down the windows, feel the rough wool blanket warm about her shoulders. And still the laughter went on and on, cold and maniacal. Superimposed on the familiar scene around her, Debbie still saw the white rocking chair moving back and forth, back and forth. It was empty now; the woman was gone. But hadn’t it been her all along? As that realization closed in, she became aware that the laughter was coming rough and raw from her own throat.

“Debs?”

Debbie twisted her head to look up at Lou, who was gazing down at her with an expression of bemused concern on her face. Her motorcycle magazine lay forgotten on the arm of the couch. The sight of Lou, the recognition that her warm lap still cradled Debbie’s head – it was all too much, too sweet, too _real_ after drifting in the void. The laughter – torn from her unwilling lungs – turned all at once to sobs. Debbie felt the burning in her eyes and the shaking of her shoulders. She buried her head into Lou’s hip, unable to look at her face as the bemusement turned to uncertainty laced with fear. Because Debbie didn’t cry. In all their time of knowing one another, Debbie could count the number of times she’d cried – _really_ cried – in front of Lou on less than a hand’s-worth of fingers. Even alone, Debbie’s sadness usually manifested in other ways than tears: in blank hours spent staring at nothing or in listening to macabre music. The sobbing hurt. She could still remember floating alone in that empty blackness, could still feel the danger and see the red lights. She still felt adrift and threatened.

“ _Debbie_.” Lou’s voice was firm, but her hand was soft as it curled around the back of Debbie’s head.

Debbie took a deep breath that shook her entire body. She felt abrasive dampness collecting between her eyes and the fabric of Lou’s shirt. Very slowly, she turned her head to look up at Lou, not knowing what thoughts she’d see in those blue eyes.

“Did you…have a nightmare?” Lou asked, as soon as Debbie’s brown eyes found hers. Her voice was tender, but matter-of-fact. It carried relief and calm.

“I…” Debbie began. She swallowed against the roughness in her throat. “I guess…I guess so.” She felt confused. She couldn’t recall ever remembering a dream. Not once. Sometimes she would awake to the fleeting threads of an emotion or a thought, but there was never anything tangible attached to it – no images or sounds. She was the master of daydreams, of working out scenarios and contingencies in technicolor, high-definition detail in her mind – in her _waking_ mind. Her sleep had never been disturbed, and now her brain was desperately trying to catch up, to understand this turn of events.

“Was it a bad one?” Lou asked quietly. There was no one else in the loft, but Lou kept her voice low. Debbie appreciated the intimacy.

“I…” Debbie wasn’t sure what to say. She had nothing to compare it to, so it wasn’t worse or better than anything. “I guess so,” she said again, after a moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lou asked, gently prying a few strands of hair from Debbie’s sticky, tear-streaked face.

“Lou, I’ve never…” Debbie broke off. This confession felt oddly personal, even for a conversation with Lou.  

“You never _what_ , Debbie?” Lou asked kindly. Her voice invited confidence.

Debbie took a moment to collect her thoughts. She sat up, and Lou leaned back against the arm of the couch. She swung her legs onto the cushions and tucked them on either side of Debbie. Debbie – grateful for the gesture of comfort – settled herself against Lou’s chest. For a moment she just breathed with Lou, feeling her pulse finally slow.

“You don’t have to talk, Debs,” Lou said after a moment, her voice muffled slightly in the top of Debbie’s head. “You know that, right? Whatever you need, it’s all…it’s all fine.”

“Lou, I’ve never remembered a dream in my life, until…” She allowed the words to tumble out and then trailed off. She ran her fingers absentmindedly over the fabric of Lou’s shirt.

“Never?”

“Not even once. I mean, I know I dream, but I don’t remember them.”

Lou let out a small huff of humorless laughter. “There are times I would have done anything not to remember by dreams,” she said quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

Debbie wondered what she meant, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, she said, “I can still see it, Lou. All of it. I can still feel it and hear it…and I was…” It cost her something to admit what she had felt, because her persona of fearlessness was one she valued. But this was _Lou_ she was talking to, after all. There would be no secrets here. “I was scared.”

Lou tightened her hold around Debbie’s shoulders. “Not your M.O., Ocean.” Lou murmured with a half-laugh that conveyed her understanding.

“Not so much,” Debbie agreed, matching Lou’s falsely casual voice.

“Nightmares are shit,” Lou said coldly. She paused, and then said, “Good dreams can be shit, too.” Her voice had that same ultra-quiet quality it had a few minutes before – almost private.

Debbie considered the words, uncertain. This time she decided to ask. “What do you mean?”

Lou sighed. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“I _do_ want to.”

Debbie felt Lou shrug. “Waking up was more of the nightmare,” Lou explained. “It was when you were in prison. I hadn’t seen you in years, but I came back here when you called. And…it wasn’t a great time for me.”

“I know.” Debbie did. Tammy had told her.

“Anyway, I dreamt a lot. Of you. The dreams were…well, they were amazing.” Debbie smiled, but she sensed the bittersweet undertone of Lou’s words. “ _You_ were amazing,” Lou added, “You _are_ amazing.” Lou sighed. “But then I would wake up, and you were still gone. I had left you, and you had gone to prison—”

“It wasn’t your fault that I went to prison,” Debbie interrupted.

“I know,” Lou said. “I know. But I _missed_ you, and I knew it was going to be _years_ before…” Lou trailed off.

“So, what did you do?” Debbie asked, “About the dreams?”

Lou took a deep breath and let it out gradually. “I…drank,” Lou said with a slow shake of her head from side to side, “I…went home with women I didn't know, women you didn’t look like _you_.”

“Broke some hearts?” Debbie asked in an attempt at levity.

“Never stayed to find out,” Lou said with a shake of the head. “I knew I loved _you_ ,” she added simply.

Debbie pressed her face into Lou’s chest and felt the steady beating of her heart. “And then?” she asked, her voice muffled in the cotton of Lou’s old T-shirt.

“And then I got the club. I went to see you. I stopped drinking…well, stopped drinking like _that_ , anyway.”

“And the dreams went away?”

Lou sighed. “No. No they didn’t.”

“But?”

“But it was…okay.” Lou paused for a moment, and Debbie contemplated her words. “What I’m saying, Debs,” Lou went on after a moment, “is that I had to find other things that _told_ me I was okay. I had to work at the club, I had to see you, I had to move out of our old apartment.”

“Makes sense,” said Debbie.

“Debs, have you ever tried to give your brain a break before today?”

“Tried?” Debbie said. “No. But it _has_ happened before. Right before you left, I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t run a single job without fucking up…well, you remember.”

“Yeah. You were jealous of Danny.”

Debbie nodded. “My head was a mess. I couldn’t focus, couldn't work…couldn’t do much of anything else.”

“And what happened?”

“You left,” Debbie said simply. “It convinced me to get my head back on, and I promised myself that from then on, I would always find something to keep my mind busy.” Debbie sighed and shook her head. “But then I met Claude, and it all happened again. I got too comfortable in my own abilities, too confident that what he said he felt was real and that I would see a trick from him a mile away. But I didn’t, not until I was lying in a crummy jail cell, thinking of you and trying to remember how I’d fucked up so badly.”

“So, why do you want to do this?” Lou asked. “Why do you want to rest if that’s what’s happened before?”

Debbie looked up at her, gazing into Lou’s concerned eyes. “Because I want…I _need_ to see if I can,” she confessed, “Because it’s been ten – no, _eleven_ – years. Because before…before I either had you and no jobs, or good jobs and no _you_. But now, I have you, and we’ve just pulled the two best jobs of my life.”

Lou smiled. “And a wedding.”

Debbie smiled back. “Yes, and a wedding,” she agreed.

Lou let her head fall to the side and closed her eyes. “You’re scared you’ll never be able to slow down.” Lou said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Debbie said.

“You’re scared you’re addicted to always finding the next big take.”

Debbie thought about it. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, I think I am.”

“And now you’re scared because the minute you allowed yourself to relax, you had the first nightmare of your life.”

“Yes,” Debbie said softly. Lou chuckled quietly, almost inaudibly, but Debbie could feel it in her chest. Lou’s eyes were still closed, her head thrown back over the arm of the couch. “What?” Debbie prompted. “Lou, this isn’t funny.”

Lou opened her eyes and looked down at Debbie with a half-smile. “No, it isn’t, Debs,” she said, her tone serious, though her eyes still smiled. “But you do realize, _this_ might be your midlife crisis.”

“I thought prison was my midlife crisis.”

Lou shrugged. “You can have more than one.”

Debbie smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah? What are yours?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m too young for that shit.”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “Baby, neither of us is too young for a midlife crisis. I think we crossed that bridge a _long_ time ago.”   

“Speak for yourself, _Deborah_.” Lou’s eyes twinkled. “Fifty’s the new forty.”

“I turned fifty in prison,” Debbie replied, “Fuck off.” Nevertheless, she smiled and nuzzled her face against Lou’s chest.

Her skin itched from crying, and her eyes were aching. Lou’s words helped, and the banter made her feel more like herself, but the fear still prickled at the corners of her mind. Each clap of thunder made her jump a little more than usual. Visions from her dream kept flickering before her eyes: darkness, red lights, green grass, a chair, a woman. This was all so uncomfortable, so _odd_. The sound of the rain was relaxing, and Debbie was glad it wasn’t too quiet. Quiet reminded her of the dream.

“Hey,” Lou said after a while, moving her hand from where it had rested on Debbie’s shoulder up into her hair. “You want a bath?”

“Only if you join me,” Debbie said, glancing up to meet Lou’s gaze.

“You sure?” Lou asked. “If you need time by yourself…”

“No,” Debbie said, more firmly than she meant to. “No,” she said again in a softer voice. She placed a kiss to the cotton fabric covering Lou’s sternum. “I…want you around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Debbie said, both amused and gratified by Lou’s gentleness. “I _really_ do.”

 

**

 

One of the only major purchases Lou had made since the Met Gala Heist – apart from Debbie’s engagement ring – was an enormous, claw-footed bathtub. Debbie appreciated the gesture. She hadn’t been much of a bath person before prison – not that she had much of an opportunity to become one in the single-bedroom apartments and conned hotel rooms she and Lou had called home for the first ten years of their partnership. However, there was something about nearly six years of short, cold showers that made a person – a body – long for luxury and hot water and lavender oils. Once (in passing), Debbie had mentioned to Lou that she had enjoyed the bathtub at the Plaza on the first night of her parole. The claw-footed tub was installed at the loft less than a week later.

Today, with the rain still falling in torrents and the occasional flash of lightening, the bath seemed even more decadent than usual. Debbie still felt strange. The nightmare had unsettled a very fundamental part of her sense of self, and it was hard to believe that today was still the same day when she’d awoken to sunshine and spent the morning in her underwear finishing a con and watching Lou saunter around in a purple top hat. Debbie pulled the bubble-bath, salts, and oils from the cupboard and passed them over to Lou, who began filling the tub and pulled fresh towels from the closet. Debbie placed her rings carefully next to Lou’s in the dish on the counter, feeling a familiar pleasurable swoop in her stomach at the sight of them lying next to each other: opals for Lou, sapphires for Debbie, and matching wedding bands for each. Lou pulled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it over Debbie’s head towards the door. Debbie turned her attention away from the rings, and her mouth went dry as Lou bent to check the water temperature and add salts, her breasts hovering and surrounded by steam. The effect was more than slightly mesmerizing, and Debbie found that she was staring again. She barely registered that she was still fully clothed.

“Want some help?” Lou asked, shutting off the faucet and turning back to Debbie.

“What?”

“Are you going to wear your clothes for this?”

“Oh,” Debbie said, looking down. “Right, I…”

“Here.” Lou took a step forward and took Debbie’s hand, tugging her close. Debbie could feel Lou’s breasts against hers through the fabric of her shirt, and she pressed nearer. Lou’s hands found the hem of Debbie’s shirt, and Debbie raised her arms above her head to help her pull it off. She felt vulnerable, unsure of whether her body was real. But Lou seemed to think it _was_ real as she ghosted fingertips up her arms, around her shoulders, down her back. Debbie pushed her pants to the floor, and felt a bit of color rise in her cheeks as Lou looked at her. She was still wearing the underwear she’d pulled out of Lou’s drawer that morning. Lou’s hands moved to rest gently on Debbie’s hips for a moment as Debbie draped her arms over Lou’s shoulders, fingers knotting together in mid-air behind Lou’s head. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Lou’s as she felt gentle fingers tug the lacy underwear over her hips and down her thighs. A second later, Lou’s hands vanished from her skin in order to finish undressing, and Debbie’s eyes sprang open. The touch had grounded her, but closing her eyes without Lou’s hands to hold her in reality wasn’t something she was ready for.

Lou must have noticed the anxiety in Debbie’s eyes because she said, “It’ll get better, Debs. I promise. It’ll…fade.”

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes closed so tight that stars popped behind her eyelids. “I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I know. It’s just…different and…weird.”

After a moment, Debbie blinked her eyes open once again and gave Lou a half-smile. Lou moved behind her and ran her fingers gently through Debbie’s hair before gathering it into her hands and twisting it into a loose bun on the top of her head. Lou placed a firm kiss at the join of Debbie’s neck and shoulder, and Debbie smiled more fully, relaxing against Lou.

“You’re being so nice to me,” Debbie observed as Lou pulled her towards the bathtub and helped her step into it.

“You can make it up to me later,” Lou replied, climbing into the bath behind Debbie and straddling her hips.  

Debbie leaned into her chest with a sigh. “Be careful what you wish for,” she said through a smirk, grateful that her voice had regained its usual frankness.

“Never,” Lou whispered suggestively in her ear.

The tension Debbie had held since waking from the nightmare seemed to ooze out of her pores as she sat in the hot water. Lou passed a washcloth slowly over her skin, leaving a trail of buzzing electricity. Though the dream and the subsequent tears had left her drained, Debbie felt the return of energy and life seeping into her muscles. She took a deep breath and let the mingling scents of bath oils clear her head.

“Better?” Lou asked, after a few minutes of warm silence.

“Yeah,” Debbie replied, running her fingers over Lou’s right thigh pressed against hers. “Thanks.” She pressed her hand more firmly into Lou’s leg, massaging the muscles and grinning at the soft hum of pleasure that rumbled in Lou’s chest pressed up against her back. “You want to order food later?”

“Sure,” Lou answered, “You pick.”

“Indian food from that place on 3rd?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They lapsed into silence once more. Each passing second made Debbie feel more like herself. She took the washcloth from Lou and passed it over Lou’s skin, trying to put half-formed confessions of love and gratitude into the movement of the cloth around Lou’s ankle and up her leg. None of the words she could think of seemed like enough. Eventually she turned carefully to face Lou in the tub, tucking her legs over Lou’s hips. The bubble bath and bath salts made the water slippery; skin slid over skin like silk. Debbie dipped the washcloth back into the bubbles and brought it to Lou’s chest. She traced slow circles over her skin, feeling her shiver despite the bath and watching Lou’s eye lids flutter as the cloth brushed against a nipple. Debbie smiled, and tried again to think of the right words, but she couldn’t, so instead she asked:

“How long did I sleep?”

Lou cleared her throat before speaking, her eyes slightly unfocused as Debbie continued to bathe her, now moving over her shoulders. “About an hour,” Lou rasped after a moment. “You were…” She smiled and blushed, averting her eyes from Debbie’s searching look.

“What?” Debbie asked curiously.

Lou fiddled with a strand of her own damp hair and eyed Debbie somewhat abashedly. “You were just…nice.”

“Nice?” Debbie asked innocently.

“You were fucking adorable, okay,” Lou said in a rush, her hand falling back under the water with a splash. “Though now you’re slightly irritating. _Anyway,_ ” she continued, not acknowledging Debbie’s smirk, “about five minutes before you woke up, you…”

“I _what_ , Lou?” Debbie heard her own voice come out very quietly, somewhat apprehensive about what Lou was about to say.

“You…started making sounds. You sounded…Oh, God, Debs. You sounded so scared.” Lou’s voice shook slightly, and Debbie fixed her eyes on the bubbles. “And I was about to wake you up,” Lou continued after a moment, “but then you started laughing, and then you opened your eyes, and then…” She trailed off.

Debbie didn’t need her to continue. “I’m sorry,” Debbie said. It wasn’t quite what she needed to say, but it was _something_.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Lou reached up to cup Debbie’s jaw in her hand and leaned forward to kiss her gently. “I’m glad I was there. Really.”

Debbie glanced up at her with a small smile. “Only five minutes?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Felt like hours.”

“Well, yeah. That happens.” Lou ran her finger along Debbie’s cheek, leaving a trail of bubbles behind. Debbie moved the washcloth over each of Lou’s arms.

“I’m glad you were there, too,” Debbie said after another few minutes of quiet, surprised at herself as the words fell from her mouth.

Lou smiled. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Lou rolled her eyes. Debbie grinned and hung the washcloth over the faucet. She slid her arms around Lou’s shoulders and pulled her close against her chest, burying her face in Lou’s neck. Lou hummed appreciatively. Rain was still lashing against the bathroom window, but it wasn’t so dark outside anymore, and the thunder had subsided. Lou’s hand ran up and down her back.

“Debbie, you don’t have to answer this if you don't want to,” Lou murmured, her voice muffled against Debbie’s shoulder. “But was it about prison?”

“No,” Debbie said, pulling back to look into Lou’s eyes so she knew she was telling the truth. “No, it was…weird. Abstract.” She shook her head. She wasn’t even sure if she could describe the dream if she tried.

Lou nodded and squeezed Debbie’s upper arms in her strong fingers. “We should get out. The water will get cold soon.”

Debbie nodded and sighed, already missing the warm cocoon of the hot water. Lou pulled out the plug and stood up. Suddenly, Debbie wasn’t thinking about the bath anymore, or even about her nightmare, because water droplets were trailing down Lou’s limbs, and there were soft piles of bubbles collected on her shoulder and elbow and hip. She stared up at her, transfixed, suddenly very aware of the silkiness of the water lapping at her breasts and of a coiling warmth in her abdomen.

“Remember when you said something about making it up to you later?” Debbie said in what she hoped was an off-hand tone.

Lou smirked. “Vaguely.” She held out a hand to help Debbie out of the tub. “Something on your mind?”

“Only you, baby,” Debbie murmured, wrapping a towel around herself and stepping close to Lou on the bath mat. “Only you.” She placed a brief kiss on the edge of Lou’s jaw before stepping back to dry off, relishing the way Lou’s eyes followed her movements.

As if she suddenly was unable to control herself, Lou moved forward and trapped Debbie between her body and the sink. Debbie smiled proudly, eyes darting from Lou’s eyes to her lips and back again. She leaned in to kiss her, but Lou moved at the last moment, pressing her mouth against Debbie’s neck instead. Debbie felt her knees wobble, and she gripped the cold edge of the sink as Lou’s tongue and teeth worked a mark between the muscles of her shoulder and neck. She ran a hand down Lou’s back and tugged her hips close, thighs sliding easily between one another’s legs and eliciting groans from both of them.

Debbie ran her hand back up Lou’s back to her hair and tugged gently. She wanted – no, she _needed_ – to find Lou’s lips with hers. Lou kissed her way up Debbie’s neck sending warmth directly to the ache between Debbie’s legs. She rolled her hips against Lou’s thigh as their lips collided at last – messy and greedy. Out of nowhere, Debbie’s body felt truly real again as she surrounded herself with Lou’s pleasure and her own.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she muttered against Lou’s mouth. Lou hummed something that sounded like she agreed with Debbie’s sentiment.

Towels discarded and hands scrabbling to find purchase on still-damp skin, they stumbled towards the door and into the bedroom. The backs of Lou’s knees hit the bed, and they fell in a mess of limbs with Debbie on top. Debbie hissed as Lou’s teeth tugged on her lower lip a little harder than usual; control and grace seemed to have been left behind. Using some combination of hands and hips and breathless single-word requests, they eventually moved up the bed enough for Debbie to straddle Lou’s right thigh. Her own left leg pressed hard against Lou for a moment before Debbie replaced the pressure with two fingers. Debbie’s eyes found Lou’s.

“ _Yes_ , Debs,” Lou gasped. Her eyes fluttered closed as Debbie slid her fingers inside, moving gently at first and then settling into a rhythm. Lou’s left hand moved from the sheets to Debbie’s hip, her fingers trailing along the joint and then lower, slipping into the moisture that had gathered on her own thigh pressed against Debbie.

“Fuck me,” Debbie muttered, voice cracking slightly. She moved her free right hand to guide Lou’s fingers into place, gasping momentarily at the pressure and barely remembering for a second to keep her own fingers working in Lou’s heat. Debbie ground down onto Lou’s palm and couldn’t contain a quiet whimper as Lou added a third finger.

“Good?” Lou asked, breathless and flushed. The question turned to a moan as Debbie adjusted the angle of her wrist and thrust deeper inside Lou.

“ _So_ good,” Debbie gasped, rolling her hips. “You?”

“Please don’t stop,” Lou murmured in answer. Her eyes found Debbie’s once more, blue gazing into brown with such love and admiration and pure _desire_ that Debbie moaned again. Her wrist ached dully, but she didn’t slow her pace. She rolled her hips more forcefully against Lou’s fingers, increasing the speed and feeling the muscles in her thighs begin to tremble.

“Close?” Debbie managed to ask between breaths.  

Lou smiled. “So close.” Her voice was deeper than usual, and the sound of it ran through Debbie like a wave. She twisted her fingers slightly and felt a familiar trembling begin to flow through Lou’s body. Without warning, her own muscles contracted against Lou’s hand, stars popped in front of her eyes, and she collapsed into Lou’s chest, her head falling against Lou’s shoulder. Debbie felt Lou pulse around her fingers and heard her muffle a moan in her hair. They lay like that for several minutes, their breathing slowly settling, fingers still buried and stroking gently.

“You’re amazing, baby,” Debbie murmured, breaking the silence.

“ _We’re_ amazing,” Lou replied through a contented sigh.

“You’re not wrong.” Debbie smiled and slowly pulled her fingers out of Lou. She laid them – warm and sticky – against Lou’s hip. Lou’s hand twitched beneath her, and Debbie raised her hips slightly so Lou could remove her fingers, too.

“So wet for me,” Lou said quietly. She trailed her hand up her own body, and Debbie raised her head to watch Lou suck each finger into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and swirling her tongue.

“You’re perfect,” Debbie whispered, unable to tear her eyes from the movements of Lou’s mouth. “So perfect.”

“You taste good,” Lou replied with a smirk. Debbie smiled up at her and felt herself blush slightly at Lou’s words. She placed a kiss on Lou’s shoulder and tightened her fingers on her hip.

“I…I love you,” Debbie said, matter-of-fact as though she was talking about the weather or what they were going to order for dinner. It made it easier to speak that way, to take the feeling out of her voice even as the emotions rose in her chest. Sometimes it was just important to _say_ it, even if she couldn’t make the words carry the depth they deserved.       

But Lou understood. She smiled and ran a finger along Debbie’s jaw to her chin. “I love you, too, honey.”

 

**

 

The fear had faded to the mere edges of Debbie’s mind during the bath, during the sex that followed, and all through dinner. But now – as the sky grew dark outside and Lou led the way upstairs to get ready for bed – a dull ache of concern settled in Debbie’s temples. Sleep had never scared her before, not even in prison. If there was one thing Debbie could count on (apart from Lou, of course), it was her ability to sleep restfully and completely for seven hours every night. There had been a handful of times throughout her life when sleep had eluded her: once when she was young and had an almost fatally high fever, once the night before she posed as the seller for Claude (and God, she really should’ve taken that as a fucking sign), and twice in prison: her first night back in a crowded cell after being stabbed and the night they’d told her about Danny. And now tonight.

It was early still, and she didn’t feel pressured to fall asleep yet. Lou was sitting up, flipping alternately through her motorcycle magazine and something in Chinese on her laptop. Debbie was pretty sure it was about Americans’ use of off-shore accounts, and that Lou was making sure none of their names (or rather “names”) were mentioned. It had been almost a year and a half since the Met Heist, but that kind of job can have threads that stretch across years unless you make very, very certain that each one is cut. Debbie had slid a collection of poems by Goethe off the shelf downstairs and was flipping through it idly, not really absorbing any of it. She had thought that it might help to throw a linguistic wrench in the mix, thought that thinking in German for a few hours might leave less room for her mind to dwell on the nightmare. It hadn’t worked. Now her brain was just re-describing the dream in German, which wasn’t helping.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Lou asked, closing her laptop with a snap and putting it on her bedside table.

“Yes. I am.” Debbie flopped onto her back and sighed, turning her head to look up at Lou.   

Lou shifted to lie down next to Debbie, propping her head up on one elbow and reaching out to fidget with the fabric of the plaid robe Debbie was wearing. It was actually Lou’s, but Debbie had wrapped it around herself earlier because the fabric was soft and because it smelled like Lou. Lou was wearing silk boxers and an old button-down shirt that could have belonged to either of them. Debbie reached up and played with one of the buttons. Debbie knew that Lou was waiting for her to speak, but she found herself – somewhat uncharacteristically – completely lost for words; her well of sarcastic quips for moments such as these seemed to have run dry.

Lou’s brow knitted slightly as she watched Debbie struggle for words. “Just because you had a nightmare doesn’t mean it’s going to happen every time you close your eyes,” Lou said. “You need to sleep,” she added, when Debbie didn’t respond.

“I know,” Debbie said eventually, “I _want_ to sleep.” The slow movement of Lou’s fingers over the fabric of the robe suddenly made her very aware of how exhausted she really was.

“I’ll be right here, Jailbird,” Lou said, sitting up again to pull back the bedclothes and switch off her lamp.

“I know that, too,” Debbie said softly as she pushed the robe from her shoulders and crawled between the sheets. She leaned over to turn off her reading light. The room wasn’t as dark as she had feared; the lights of Brooklyn reflected off the bay and shone in through the window, and the storm had blown over leaving faint stars twinkling in the light-polluted sky. She turned onto her side to face the window, and Lou curled herself around her. One arm snaked under Debbie’s neck and the other pressed firmly against her ribs, her thumb lying against the underside of her breast. Debbie melted into Lou’s embrace, grateful that she hadn’t needed to ask, that after two decades together (give or take far too many years apart), Lou just _knew_. She stared at the lights outside the window, reminding herself that space wasn’t empty, that here they were in the _actual_ universe instead of the dark parody of her nightmare. She felt her breaths become slower and deeper in time with Lou’s. Twice, she pulled herself back from the brink of sleep with a gasp, and both times, Lou pressed kisses against her neck and held her even tighter. Debbie thought of the lights on the bay. She thought of the milky way she’d seen once in the desert with Danny, stopped by the side of the road at midnight after a low-stakes job in Reno. Eventually, it was enough, and Debbie slept.

 

**

 

“I have to admit, you’re not what I expected,” Claude was saying.

Debbie shot him a quizzical glance over her glass. The ice clinked as she took a sip, waiting for his explanation.

“Let’s just say, most of the people I’ve worked with couldn’t pull off those shoes.” He glanced at Debbie’s feet in their silver stilettos, and Debbie felt his gaze travel up her body.

“What do you mean?” she asked, putting her glass on a coaster.

“Never known a woman in the business,” he said.

She smiled, though a tiny pang of regret shot through her heart, because she _had_ known women in the business. A woman. Lou.

“So, what’s your story?” He asked.

Debbie sighed, wondering what was best to tell him. She decided on bits and pieces of the truth interspersed with lies that would keep her in his circle. This modern art shit was more lucrative than she had expected, and it excited her to be able to get so much from doing so little. “Went through a bad break-up,” she said finally.

“Personal or professional?”

“Both,” she said, with a sad smile. It was sort-of true; Lou _had_ left, but they’d never said what they were to begin with, never placed labels on their ten-year partnership. They had parted on good terms, and Debbie knew she would be back. One day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placing a warm hand on her knee. “When?”

“A few months ago.” A lie – a recent break-up kept the conversation moving. In truth, it had been almost two years – almost two years of swallowing her pride and working here and there for Danny and his crew, almost two years without Lou.  

“What man could give _you_ up?” Clause asked. She expected the flattery was somewhat empty, but somehow it felt good to know that she could still turn a few heads (or many heads). “I mean, was he gay?” he joked. “Because that’s the only reason I can think of.”

Debbie faked a small laugh to disguise the decision being made behind her eyes. “Yes,” she said finally, deciding to take the plunge, “ _she_ was.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she watched his eyes run over her again. He removed his hand from her knee. “Am I wasting my time?” He asked finally.

“No,” Debbie said, the hint of a laugh in her voice. “No, you’re not.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either, because Lou would be back. _She’ll come back to me_.

But until then, she wasn’t going to wear some sort of chastity belt, and sleeping with women made her sad, so here she was. He asked. She said yes. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. His bedroom was modern and full of steel grey and cream. She liked it even though it was exactly what she expected – or perhaps she liked it _because_ of that. This man was an open book, and sleeping with him could only help her. He was attractive, and (fuck it) so was she. He tasted like scotch, which she liked, and his hands were surprisingly gentle as he slowly lowered the zipper of her dress. He let her take the lead, saw that need for control in her and respected it – _liked_ it, even. His hands fit well around her hips. This was easy, Debbie thought, _so easy_ …

 

**

 

Debbie awoke with a jolt. For a second, she couldn’t think why the room was spinning or why there was a pool of nausea building in her throat. Suddenly, she felt his hands – Becker’s hands – on her again, and another wave of sickness coursed through her. She pulled herself out of Lou’s arms and stumbled towards the bathroom, unable to think of anything other than the need to rid herself of the taste of scotch on her tongue, of the feeling of his hands and his mouth, of him moving under her – _inside_ her. _No_. Her body convulsed over the toilet bowl, and bile burned in her throat. She had trained herself not to think about him, to never allow her mind to drift back there. She had thought she was safe from him of all people; with him behind bars – _literal_ bars – even the memory of him couldn’t touch her.

Oh, but now it could. Images sharp as reality flashed in front of her eyes, and worst of all were the recollections of what she had felt: the way she had appreciated his gentle hands and their simple partnership, the way she had wanted him despite the fact that his flattering glances had become more lustful rather than less when he found out she had slept with women, with _Lou_. She had never told him her name, had spun a tale of heartbreak that Lou didn’t deserve. After all, it had all been a game with him, until it became something more sinister that she didn’t recognize because she was caught up in _winning_. He said he loved her, and she believed him. Mercifully perhaps, she never felt the same way; she just felt proud: proud that she had him wrapped around her finger. And yet, she _had_ wanted him – had _let_ herself want him – even when he murmured bullshit pillow-talk about turning her straight.

Another wave of sickness rolled over Debbie, and she clutched at the sides of the toilet, knuckles white and aching. She felt tears on her cheeks. Maybe she really couldn’t do this; maybe this was her body telling her to give up on this experiment now. Relaxation just wasn’t for her, perhaps, if this was what her brain did under its influence. Debbie gagged again, spitting nothing but bile into the toilet. A ringing sound grew in her ears, and she felt herself shaking. She curled up, naked and shivering on the bathroom floor. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. Lou hadn’t been wrong when she said nightmares were shit. _Lou_.

“Lou.” She tried to call her, but her voice wasn’t working properly. She cleared her throat and tried again, but it was no use. She couldn’t manage more than a whisper.   

But then warm, soft hands found her shoulders, and Lou’s voice was saying her name over and over, steady and concerned. Debbie raised her head, and Lou’s face solidified above her. Her hair was messy and real; her eyes were soft.

“Are you ill, Debs?” Lou asked.

“N…No,” Debbie stammered, pulling herself into a sitting position and wiping her mouth on the cloth Lou held out for her. “No, it…it happened again.”

“The dream?”

“Different dream,” Debbie croaked, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, trying to shake off the memories, the feelings.

“Worse?” Lou asked, crouching next to her on the tile floor and reaching out to sweep sweaty strands of hair off of Debbie’s forehead.

“Just…different. I was…” Debbie gave a shaky sigh. “I was with…with _him_.” She knew Lou understood by the way her brow creased and her jaw tightened. “I remembered…” But she couldn’t go on.

“Hey, Debs,” Lou murmured, stroking her back as Debbie buried her face between her knees. “ _Debbie_ , it’s over. _He_ ’s over. You’re…you’re with me now.” Lou’s voice cracked. “And you’re _it_ , Debbie, you’re _her_.”

“Her?” Debbie asked, raising her face slightly and wiping her eyes on her knees.

“ _Mine_ ,” Lou said, leaning in to press a kiss to Debbie’s temple. “Forever, Jailbird.”

Debbie smirked weakly at Lou’s words. They both knew Debbie would normally respond with sarcasm to a line like that, but she was too exhausted – the smirk would do for now.

Lou checked the time on her watch. “It’s 5 am. Do you want to sleep more? I think I have some sleeping pills somewhere. Otherwise, Nine left some pretty good weed downstairs last week.”

Debbie laughed quietly in spite of herself at Lou’s words. “No,” she answered, “I think I need to talk to Danny.”

“At 5 am?” Lou asked, eyebrows raised.

Debbie shrugged and leaned her head back against the wall. “It’s as good a time as any. It’s not like he’s on a schedule.”

“Fair enough,” Lou said. She helped Debbie to her feet and passed over her toothbrush.

“Thanks,” Debbie said, stepping up to the sink.

“You must be freezing. I’ll get you some clothes. Anything in particular?”

Debbie hummed an approval of Lou’s words around her toothbrush and shook her head, feeling better now that she was slowly scrubbing the taste of vomit from her mouth. She reached out to squeeze Lou’s hand before she left to get Debbie’s clothes, trying (as always) to put something more into the touch, something that hinted at the half-formed words in Debbie’s heart. Debbie dressed methodically as Lou climbed back into bed. She put on makeup in front of the bathroom mirror and was pleased to see her own familiar face looking back at her. Her mind might be splitting at the seams, but the mirror told her she was _still_ Debbie Ocean, and that’s all she had ever wanted to be.

Slipping into a pair of black ankle boots and tugging a blazer around her shoulders, Debbie paused to look down at Lou, lying on her side with the sheets pulled up around her chest. Her eyes were closed, but Debbie knew she wasn’t asleep yet by the speed of her breathing and the way she was twirling a piece of her own platinum blonde hair around her finger. Debbie felt a wave of affection flow through her. She reached out and squeezed Lou’s shoulder gently.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours, baby,” she whispered, leaning down to brush a kiss to the top of Lou’s ear.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Lou murmured sleepily without opening her eyes.

“Okay,” Debbie said. She walked towards the door, but she stopped before she reached the threshold and turned back towards the bed. “Lou?” she said, her heart pounding hard in her throat. She ran a finger over the sapphires on her engagement ring and steeled her nerves.  

“Mhm?”

“I love you, baby.”

Debbie was a foot outside the door when she caught Lou’s sleep-heavy reply: “I know you do, honey.”


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACT III
> 
> “She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it.” Julius Caesar [II, 2]

Debbie couldn’t count the number of times she had trodden the familiar path between the loft and the cemetery. She knew exactly how many steps it took her to get there, knew the exact sound her heels made on each section of pavement. It was cool outside after yesterday’s storm. The dark grey of early dawn turned everything from the trees to the puddles into a monochromatic blur as Debbie walked on. She allowed herself to count her steps and think of nothing else. This was the quietest hour in the city. A couple cabs and cars rumbled by, and other pedestrians were few and far between. People called this the City that Never Slept, but Debbie knew it did, knew how to catch it napping better than anyone else. She knew when it was quiet.

She picked the lock on the cemetery gate and left it swinging. She liked the idea that a paranoid guard or two might mistake her for a ghost. She had learned over the past nineteen months and twenty-four days that grief was a strange thing. Debbie had never been good with feelings or emotions. She _felt_ things. She felt things so profoundly that it hurt, but she couldn’t put words to them. It wasn’t that she bottled everything up inside herself (though sometimes she did), it was that putting on the façade and the persona and the stilettos really _did_ help. The power to control the presentation of Debbie Ocean to the world was something she valued more than (or as much as) her ability to steal from high-end department stores. But grief was something else. Grief wasn’t an emotion; it was a restructuring of self around emptiness and absence. Grief woke her up every morning (even now) with a flashing neon sign, reminding her that today and yesterday and every day from January 1, 2018 onwards was going to be different because Danny Ocean had died. Just…died.

“I still don’t know why you had to be so goddamn boring,” Debbie said, running a finger over Danny’s name before sitting down on the bench. “I don’t know why you had to die, you know? Was it just to remind me that it could be me one day?” She shook her head and laughed humorlessly, the cold sound echoed off the walls of the mausoleum.

“I miss you,” she said more quietly after many minutes of silence. “I never told you, but I’m still mad at you about Claude, which is stupid because I know most of that was my fault, but you introduced me to him, so I guess I just thought the blame was something we could share.” The words were coming of their own accord, and she felt an uncomfortable prickling behind her eyes. Debbie was fairly certain she had cried more in this mausoleum than anywhere else in the world.

“I dreamt about him last night, Danny.” The words were rough and erratic around the lump in her throat. “I remembered how much I wanted to use him to forget…” She paused as the words became too choked. She tried and failed to take a few deep breaths. “…to forget about _Lou_.” Debbie put her head in her hands. “Wasn’t that _your_ idea?” she said after a moment, wiping her eyes and looking back up at the cold marble in front of her. “Even you, Danny. Even you said that maybe I just hadn’t found the right man.” Debbie shook her head, remembering how lost she had felt when words like that were all anyone had to comfort her. She managed a small smirk. “Well. He _wasn’t_ the right man, or even a good one. We know that now.” Saying all this aloud seemed to be helping (finally) because Debbie suddenly found that she was able to take a deep, shuddering breath. “And Lou came back,” Debbie said with a smile that she actually felt at the corners of her eyes. “Or, well, _I_ came back to her, or we found each other again, or some other cheesy bullshit.” Debbie rolled her eyes at the ceiling of the mausoleum.

“And I married her, Danny. I _married_ Lou, and I will never, ever, in all of eternity…” She said the words in a sing-song voice she mostly reserved for jobs and irony. “…forgive you for dying before you could be there to give Lou your less-than-threatening older brother talk and walk me down that aisle.” Debbie shook her head and felt the lump return to her throat again. “I will never forgive you for that, asshole,” she whispered. “I bet you this watch…” She held up her wrist. “…that I would never get married, and I _hate_ that it’s still on my wrist when it should be on yours.” She rubbed her thumb over the face of the watch and sat still and silent for a very long time, unmoving like the stones around her. The shadows in the corners of the room gradually took shape as the sun rose outside.    

“So, now that’s out of the way, I have a question, Danny,” Debbie finally said in a stronger voice, rising from the bench to pace back and forth in front of her brother’s name. She noticed vaguely that the morning light was growing stronger. “Did you ever dream?” she asked, matter-of-fact and cold. “Did you ever have nightmares? Was your brain like this, like _mine_? I tried to relax, Danny,” she said, almost yelling now, frustration building in her chest. “I tried to just _be_ , and it’s only been a day, but it’s been terrible. And _you_ would know what to say, you might even know what to _do_. Because I don't have a clue, Danny, why I can’t be fucking _normal_ even if I want to, and now I don’t even have _you_. Because you _died_. You _DIED_!” Debbie swung her fist into Danny’s name on the wall and saw red speckles of her own blood appear there. It hurt, but that was the point. It was what she wanted. She turned on her heel and walked towards the doorway, pausing on the threshold to look back at the names on the wall. Even from here, she could see her blood on his grave.

“You would have loved the Coney Island job, Danny,” Debbie muttered through a sigh. “You really would have.”

 

**

 

Pale yellow sunlight reflected off puddles and the leaves of damp trees as Debbie made her way back to the loft. Her body felt heavy, and she started to regret punching the marble wall after the fifth pedestrian asked if she needed help. Looking down, she realized she had effectively ruined the beige slacks Lou had chosen for her to wear. Thankfully, her black silk blouse was more impervious to blood stains. She checked the time on Danny’s watch as she walked past Lou’s old Toyota: it was nearly 7 am, and it calmed her to know that Lou would probably be awake by now, reading or cooking. Debbie knew she wouldn’t like the sight of her bloodied knuckles, but hiding them wasn’t really an option, so she sighed and pushed open the door.

Lou was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and flipping through the collection of Goethe that Debbie had left on her bedside table. She had stolen her plaid robe back from Debbie’s side of the bed, and it was tied loosely around her waist, giving Debbie an unexpected (though not unwelcome) view of her cleavage. The electric kettle was humming on the counter, and Lou had already set out their mugs beside it. She looked up from the book as Debbie walked in and kicked off her shoes.

“How’s Danny? Still dead?” Lou asked.

Debbie smiled and asked her own question instead of answering Lou’s. “You know that’s in German, right?” She gestured at the book in Lou’s hand.

Lou closed the book and laid it on the counter. “Yeah, well, I thought I should branch out.”

“Danny’s still dead,” Debbie said frankly, “but I punched him.” She held up her hand, Lou’s eyes went wide, eyebrows disappearing completely into her fringe.

“Jesus, Debs. Why the fuck…?” She moved swiftly around the counter as Debbie walked towards her.

Debbie shrugged in answer to her unfinished question and allowed Lou to gingerly caress her injured hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lou said through a sigh. “You want tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“Those are done for,” Lou commented with a gesture at Debbie’s pants as she turned to pour boiling water over their tea bags.

“I know,” Debbie said. She undid the fastening at her waist and slid the ruined clothing off her legs, dropping the pants into the trash and sitting down in her underwear on one of the mismatched stools.

“Here,” Lou said, passing Debbie her mug. “Let me see your hand.”

Debbie winced as Lou pressed gentle fingers to her knuckles, checking for breaks. “You think this is bad, you should see the other guy,” Debbie muttered.

“ _Debbie_.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Is it broken?” She blew on her tea and took a sip.

“No, but you should ice it later,” Lou replied, turning back to the sink to dampen a washcloth in cold water. She slowly began to clean the cuts. Debbie pretended it didn’t hurt. “This isn’t really your usual reaction to…well, anything,” Lou said after a minute.

“I know,” Debbie said quietly, unsure of what to tell her, unsure of why she’d punched the wall in the first place.

“So?” Lou asked, looking up, “Why did you…?”

“Closure?” Debbie responded with a smirk.

Lou rolled her eyes. “Is that your answer for everything?”

Debbie smiled. “Maybe.” She thought about it more seriously for a minute, and then said, “Actually, yeah. It really is.”

Lou sighed and pulled a first aid kit from under the sink. “Yeah, but this is more—”

“—something you would do?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Debbie shrugged. “I know.” She watched as Lou carefully applied ointment and began wrapping gauze around her still-bleeding hand. “So, why would _you_ punch a wall, Lou?”

“Loads of reasons.” Lou smiled, somewhat reminiscently. “You, drunks at the club, _you_ , Constance and her goddamn skateboard, _you_ , Becker…” She trailed off when she saw the look on Debbie’s face at the mention of _his_ name. “Hey, Debs, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She raised a hand to Debbie’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” Debbie said, meeting the concern in Lou’s eyes. “Really.” She turned her head to press a reassuring kiss into Lou’s palm. “I think we have that in common.”

Lou grimaced and went back to wrapping Debbie’s hand. After a moment, she spoke again. “So, the nightmare was about him?” She asked, confirming what Debbie had told her that morning in the bathroom.

Debbie nodded.

“You want to tell me?”

Debbie tilted her head and considered the suggestion. “Maybe,” she said, “but I’m not really sure how—”

“I know,” Lou said, now pulling some tape from the first aid kit and securing the gauze around Debbie’s knuckles. “But it might be good to try. As long as you don’t punch anything else.”

Debbie smiled in spite of herself and sipped her tea. “It was a memory,” she said after a minute, keeping her voice steady and reminding herself that all she was doing was relaying facts. Just facts. She was good at _facts_.

Lou looked up with a pleased and somewhat surprised expression on her face. It was clear she hadn’t expected Debbie to actually talk, and – somewhat bizarrely – that fact gave Debbie strength. The knowledge that Lou wasn’t going to push or pry – that she would simply _be_ there – was soothing. Debbie gave her a grateful half-smile, and Lou nodded at Debbie to continue.

“I remembered how I felt about him,” Debbie said, “things he said to me, how it felt to…to be _with_ him.” Lou definitely didn’t need those details. “You know, at the time, I thought it was fun – to be able to make him fall for me. Turns out he was thinking the same thing, and when I woke up, I remembered what he did, but I could still…still _feel_ him.” She groaned and rested her forehead against the heel of her left hand. “It was gross.”

Lou wrinkled her nose sympathetically. “I bet.”

“Even when I was with him, I knew it was _you_ that I wanted, you know that, right?”

“I do.” Lou patted Debbie’s hand to signal that she was finished with the bandage. Debbie flexed her fingers experimentally and found that the pain had dulled. Lou slid two tablets of ibuprofen across the counter, and Debbie took them with a sip of tea. “So, you punched Danny’s grave because of Claude Becker?” Lou asked in a slightly confused voice as Debbie put down her cup.

Debbie shook her head. “No, I punched Danny because he’s dead.” She managed a small laugh at the absurdity of the words.

“I see,” Lou said, walking around the counter to sit next to Debbie.

“I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

Debbie shot Lou a quizzical, side-long look.

Lou sighed and muttered something that sounded distinctly like _Oceans_ before she spoke. “Debs, you’ve just had dreams you can remember for the first time in your _life_ because you tried to relax. You’ve had _nightmares_ , which – as I mentioned yesterday – are absolute shit. _Of course_ , you went to Danny, because you wanted – you _want_ – to ask the one other Ocean that you ever put any trust in about what they would do.”

Debbie stared at her, slightly impressed, and nodded.

Lou smiled and shook her head. “But Danny never tried, Debbie. He never wanted what you want. He never gave himself a break. He wouldn’t know what to do any more than you do.”

“Yeah, I think that’s why I punched him.”

“Right,” Lou said, “You have to figure this out on your own, or give it up and just be okay with being someone who counts birds and trees and whatever-the-hell-else instead of just thinking they’re nice to look at.”

“I suppose.” Debbie wasn’t particularly thrilled about either of those options. She twisted her fingers in her lap, already fraying the edge of the gauze bandage.

“I’ll help you, if you want, and I’ll love you either way, you know?” Lou said quietly.

Debbie looked up at her, lost for words.

“Debbie, I’m so in love with you,” Lou began, “I can’t even—”

Debbie slid off her stool and closed the distance between them, burying her face in Lou’s neck. “I know, baby, me too,” she whispered. “Me too.”

 

**

 

“Let’s go for a walk,” Debbie suggested as she swallowed her last bite of toast. Lou had made good on her promise of making breakfast, and Debbie had realized she was starving when Lou slid bacon and toast onto her plate next to two perfectly fried eggs.

“Where?” Lou asked.

“Manhattan.”

Lou raised her eyebrows skeptically as she took a sip of tea.

Debbie rolled her eyes. “I need perfume,” she explained.

“Really?”

“No, but I _want_ perfume.”

“Right.”

“Come on, baby, it’ll be fun!”

“Oh, I’m not complaining!” Lou picked up Debbie’s empty plate and leaned in for a swift kiss. “I need perfume, too.”

Debbie smiled and led the way upstairs. She stopped by her own closet and pulled out an unbloodied pair of beige slacks before following Lou down the hall to their bedroom. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she noticed that even through a layer of waterproof makeup, her eyes were red and puffy. She sighed and began touching up the edges, trying to offset the redness and even out the dark circles under her eyes.

“I feel like I’ve aged about ten years in two days,” she muttered, mostly to herself, though Lou was only a few feet away, getting dressed in the bedroom.

“Honey, you still don’t look your age, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lou said in response.

Debbie appreciated the words and wondered if that made her shallow. She sighed and turned her head back and forth a few times to make sure everything was even before making her way back into the bedroom and pulling on the slacks she had chosen. Lou’s eyes trailed over her legs as they disappeared beneath the beige fabric, and Debbie felt a pleasant tingling sensation spread through her.

“You make me feel good, baby,” she said quietly, moving behind Lou where she stood in front of the full-length mirror and wrapping her arms around her waist. She pressed a kiss to Lou’s shoulder and reached up to ghost her mouth over her pulse point by her right ear. Her fingers trailed upwards from Lou’s waist, and she cupped her still-bare breasts. Lou’s lips parted slightly, and she held Debbie’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

“You look really good,” Lou said in a slightly hoarse voice.

“You too,” Debbie murmured, her breath shifting the hairs at the nape of Lou’s neck. She saw goose bumps arise there. Lou smiled and twisted in Debbie’s arms so they were face to face. Debbie slipped her uninjured left hand into the back pocket of Lou’s tight white pants and squeezed lightly. Her right hand rested heavily on Lou’s hip.

“Honey, I have to finish getting dressed if we’re ever going to leave the house.”

“But you look so good like this.” Debbie dipped her head to flick her tongue over Lou’s right nipple. “Are you sure?”

Lou’s eyelids fluttered. “I’ll wear that purple vest you like.”

“The mad hatter one?” Debbie dipped her head to Lou’s other nipple and sucked lightly.

“Mhm.”  

Debbie rubbed her thumbs over Lou’s nipples before stepping back. “You drive a hard bargain, Miller, but I accept your terms.”

“Thought so.” Lou smiled and pulled her bra from the back of the chair by the dresser. Debbie felt another ripple of desire in her stomach as she remembered that she would most likely be the one to remove that particular article from Lou’s body that evening.

Lou continued to dress, pulling on the promised vest and her usual clatter of necklaces and rings. Debbie watched her and reflected on the idea that _this_ – their life together – had once seemed just as elusive as the mental rest she now sought. Everything was so comfortable with Lou: their easy banter, the looks they shared when words weren’t enough, the way that foreplay could begin at eight in the morning in front of their mirror and roll under the surface of their interactions all day until they fell into bed together many hours later. Ten years apart had made Debbie deeply appreciative of everything Lou was, and everything _they_ were, something she had once thought was far too good to be true.  

“Ready?” Lou asked, emerging from the bathroom with her makeup in place.

“Yes,” Debbie said, standing up from the bed. “Let’s go.”

 

**

 

“Bergdorf?”

Debbie shook her head. “I’ve been there a lot lately.”

“Saks?”

“They tightened security. At both locations.”

“Did you have something to do with that?”

Debbie shrugged. “Probably.”

Lou grinned. “Care to share more?”

“I stole a dress.”

“A nice dress?”

“A _very_ nice dress.” Debbie smirked at Lou and leaned into her as the train shifted around a bend in the tunnel.

“So, where are we headed?” Lou asked, tucking an arm around Debbie’s waist and massaging slow circles on her hip through the fabric of her shirt.

“Barneys. Haven’t been there in a while, and last time I _was_ there, I wore a wig. But I thought we _could_ actually go for a walk first in the Park.”

“Sure,” Lou agreed, though she shot Debbie a curious look. “It’s a nice day.”

They got off the train at the 5th Avenue station and emerged onto streets crowded with Saturday’s usual mass of people. Debbie enjoyed the anonymity of being in a crowd. She liked the easy money practically jumping from tourists’ pockets into her hands. She liked the way people’s eyes followed her face and her legs, paying no attention at all to her hands. She smirked when the same pairs of eyes flitted over to Lou and were held spellbound by whatever wardrobe choices she had made that morning. Today was no exception. Even with only one good hand, Debbie easily stole cash out of five wallets in the time it took for them to walk past the Grand Army Plaza to the entrance of Central Park.

“You know, if you really wanted to challenge yourself, you could try to stop pick-pocketing,” Lou whispered as Debbie slipped a wad of cash into Lou’s bra.

“We both know that’s never going to happen,” Debbie said. She pinched Lou’s nipple as she withdrew her fingers, earning her an eyeroll and a soft kiss under her ear.

“Ever thought about statues?” Lou asked vaguely, matching Debbie’s strides along a tree-lined path.

“What about them?”

Lou gestured back at the gold statue behind them. “You could memorize the statues of New York.”

“I could,” Debbie said with a shrug. “But I don’t think I’m done with my experiment yet, and I know most of them anyway.”

“By name?”

“Of course not.”

Lou scoffed. “Then you don’t _know_ them.”

“Fine. I’ll think about it, if I can’t figure out this dream…” She sought for the right word. “…situation.”

“Is that why we’re walking through a park on a Saturday with no apparent ulterior motive?” Lou asked.

“I’m just trying it out.”

“What?”

“Giving my brain a fucking break.”

“I can think of some other ways we could accomplish that with fewer clothes and less walking.”  

“I know, baby,” Debbie said with a wink and a squeeze of Lou’s hand. “I know.”

They walked in comfortable silence, heels that were really far too high for this kind of activity clicking matching rhythms on the sun-warmed pavement. Debbie tried to actually _look_ at the trees instead of just counting them, tried to admire flowers without pinpointing how Goethe would have described them in _Zur Farbenlehre_ ( _The Theory of Colors_ ).

“What are you thinking about?” Debbie asked Lou when they stopped to sit on a bench fifteen minutes later.

Lou leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “People.” She dug a piece of gum out of her pocket, and Debbie watched her unwrap it and push it into her mouth.

“What else?”

Lou shrugged. “I’m wondering what kind of tree that is over there with the white flowers. I’m thinking that kid is probably going to fall off his bike.” Debbie mirrored Lou’s smirk as the kid toppled onto the grass a second later. “I’m thinking about what kind of perfume I want you to steal for me, and what we’re going to have for lunch afterwards.” Lou twisted her neck to look at Debbie, sitting with her legs and arms loosely crossed and her back straight. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

“I’m trying to stop counting how many trees I can see, and I’m deciding which of those kids would make the best criminal.”

Lou laughed. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Debbie sighed. “I don’t know, but I’m tired of it.”

“Which of those trees is the prettiest, Debs?”

“The prettiest?”

“Yeah.”

Debbie thought about it, trying not to make her decision based on anything other her _own_ aesthetic preferences instead of the golden-ratio-related categories her mind was already creating. “That one,” she said finally, pointing to a tall, dark fir tree that stood taller than the others.

“Why?”

“Not sure. I just like it.”

Lou nodded and leaned back with a hand on Debbie’s knee. “You don’t have to have a reason for everything, and not everything is about math.”

Debbie covered Lou’s hand with hers. “Thanks.”

Lou pulled Debbie up off the bench and snapped her gum loudly. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get some perfume. That’s not about math either.”

Debbie smiled and followed her, shaking her head. Stealing perfume (stealing _anything_ ) really _was_ about math. It was about angles and statistics and timing. Everything about a take was quantifiable and elegant the same way Bach and Rossini were elegant. Of course, everything was always smoother when Lou was there to handle the “people” side of things, and today was no exception. Debbie emerged from Barneys an hour later to find Lou waiting for her at the lamppost they’d designated, chewing yet another piece of gum and ignoring the stares of passersby.

“Got it?” Lou asked, gesturing to the bag in Debbie’s hand.

Debbie smirked. “Of course. You got us covered?”

Lou smirked back. “Of course.” She pushed herself off away from the lamppost and fell into step beside Debbie. “What’d you get?”

“A new Tom Ford that will _definitely_ suit you, that Dior _I_ like, and that Chanel _you_ like.”

“Nice.” Lou ran a finger down the inside of Debbie’s right forearm to the edge of the bandage wrapped across her wrist and palm. “How’s the hand?”

“I kind of forgot about it when I was in there, but now it hurts like hell,” Debbie said through slightly gritted teeth. Her knuckles were throbbing painfully, and she was becoming increasingly aware of how little sleep she had gotten the night before. “Let’s get an early lunch and go home?” she suggested, tilting her head just enough to brush her temple against Lou’s shoulder for a lingering moment as they paused at an intersection.  

“Yeah, Debs.” Lou pressed a kiss to Debbie’s temple. “Of course.”

 

**

 

Back at the loft, Lou rebandaged Debbie’s hand and dug an ice pack out of the freezer, insisting that Debbie hold it in place over her knuckles for at least half an hour. The cold was refreshing, and Debbie – despite her usual disdain for being doted upon – found Lou’s occasional caresses of her hand to be not only welcome, but actually endearing. She lay on the couch with her right hand resting on the back under the ice pack, watching Lou sort through the records by the turntable.

Debbie felt her exhausted mind beginning to wander, and she fought against her well-honed instinct to stop it. She took a deep breath and let the ideas come, comforting herself with the thought that she was awake. Daydreams didn’t scare her. _I dreamt about Claude_. Oh, so there it was. Her mind was wasting no time. _You loved her. You loved her the whole time you were with him._ That was true, though she hadn’t had the words for it then, hadn’t had the words for it for far too long. _Tell her. Tell her everything._ Debbie sighed, scrunching her eyes closed and squeezing the bridge of her nose in her left hand.

“Lou,” she said quietly without opening her eyes. She heard the shuffling of record cases stop as Lou looked up at her.

“You okay, Debs? Is it hurting? I can get you some more ibuprofen.” Debbie heard the floor of the loft creak as Lou took a few steps towards the kitchen to get the pill bottle.

Debbie shook her head and opened her eyes. “No, baby, it’s okay. The ice is helping.” She smiled at the concern on Lou’s face and held out her hand towards her. “I need…I need to talk…need to tell you…”

“Yeah, of course.” Lou reached the couch in one long stride, and Debbie pulled herself into a sitting position. Lou sat next to her and pulled Debbie’s bandaged hand into her lap, playing with her fingers.

“I told you before that the whole time I was with Claude, I actually wanted you,” Debbie began. She spoke the words simply and slowly, determined to get this right, to test the suggestion her wandering brain had made: _Tell her everything_.

“Yeah, honey, I know that,” Lou said, reaching out to run her fingers through Debbie’s hair. “What is it?”

“Something about last night – something about that…nightmare – reminded me _why_ I started things with…him.” Debbie was finding it very difficult to meet Lou’s eyes, but the gentle touch of Lou’s fingers on hers was like an anchor. “I told Danny how sorry I was that you had left, told him how much you meant to me, told him that we had been…together.”

Lou nodded, silently urging her continue.

“He was mad at you a bit, I think.” Debbie half-smiled in spite of herself. “He knew I loved you. _I_ didn’t, but he did. At least, I think he did.”

“Figures,” Lou said with a smirk. “Most people figured that out before you did.”

“Yeah, they did.” Debbie smiled back and looked into Lou’s eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze back to their entwined fingers and continuing her story. “I don’t think Danny wanted to believe it at first, though. He said…” Debbie sighed. “He said I probably hadn’t found the right man, that I needed to move on and…and forget. Even if you came back, he said, things would probably be different, and I needed to be prepared for that.”

Lou leaned her forehead against Debbie’s and let her breath out in a hiss.

“I was dumb enough to believe him,” Debbie plowed on. “I really thought that maybe I could _at least_ use Claude to distract myself and make some easy money. Needless to say, he sang the same tune as Danny about me needing the right man. He…” She gulped a breath to try and banish the returning nausea in from her throat. “He…liked the idea that I had been with women.”

Lou swallowed hard and moved her hands up to grip Debbie’s upper arms tightly, but she didn’t speak, and Debbie was grateful. Now that she had begun it was easier to get it all out at once.

“The fact that I wasn’t completely unsatisfied in…in bed…” Debbie swallowed again. She _hated_ talking about this, but it felt a bit like pulling poison from a wound (or how she imagined that might feel – fucking awful and fucking necessary). “…It made him think – well, I don't know what he really thought because I don’t know how long he was playing me – but he used to act… _proud_ for…for _turning_ me…for…for…” She couldn’t say it, not even to Lou. She’d managed it this morning to Danny, but that was only because he was lying in a tomb.

“For turning you straight?” Lou spat the words through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” Debbie said. She tangled the fingers of her left hand in Lou’s hair, holding her possessively in place against her forehead. “But that…that wasn’t the worst part.”

Lou pulled away just far enough to see Debbie’s eyes, and Debbie saw fear written across Lou’s face. “Jesus, Debbie, did he—?”

“ _No_ ,” Debbie said, passing her fingers roughly through Lou’s hair, trying to reassure both of them at the same time. “No, baby, no. It’s…it’s not that.”

Lou sighed in relief and leaned her forehead against Debbie’s once more. Debbie closed her eyes and steeled her nerves.

“The worst part was that part of me…part of me believed him – or wanted to believe him. Part of me really thought that I could forget, that I _would_ forget. Because for me, thinking about women meant thinking about you, and I wanted that part of myself to just _stop_. I didn’t fall for Claude – I didn’t even _want_ to fall for Claude…But I did _want_ him, and I _did_ want the jobs with him to distract me from you.”

“Did they? Did…did _he_?” Lou asked. Her voice was rough, and Debbie hated that it was _her_ words causing Lou pain, hated being the one to hurt her yet again.

“No,” Debbie said quietly. “It distracted me, but not from you. It distracted me from… _me_ – from everything I was good at, _am_ good at. And I went to prison for it. Claude showed me exactly who he was, showed me that he was a snake. I didn’t see the signs, and in the end…what happened…getting caught…it was probably what I deserv—”

Debbie only made it half way through the word before Lou’s mouth closed over hers, silencing the last thought. She gripped Lou’s hair even harder, and trailed the fingers of her bandaged hand gently over Lou’s cheekbone, feeling dampness under her eyes. The kiss stole her breath, but she didn’t want it to stop. Lou’s tongue licked over her upper lip, and Debbie opened her mouth to her, allowing (wanting, _needing_ ) Lou to take control. Debbie tasted mint gum and a hint of the lemonade they’d shared at lunch. She felt herself melt under Lou’s hands. Her shoulders sank into the cushions at the back of the couch as Lou swung one knee across her lap, straddling her hips and moving over her. At last, the pace slowed, and Lou pulled back to look down into Debbie’s face. Her makeup was slightly smudged, and her eyes were still bright with tears.

“ _Debbie_ ,” Lou said through a gasp.  

Debbie stared up at her, breathing heard with lips parted and tingling slightly from the kiss. Tears sprang in her own eyes at the sight of Lou’s watery ones. Debbie swallowed.

“Debbie,” Lou said again. “Don’t you _ever_ say that you deserved to be there. You didn’t. Don’t you _ever_ blame yourself for all the bullshit…men…” She trailed off, eyes still boring into Debbie’s soul. Debbie couldn’t even blink. “I would’ve punched Danny, too,” Lou said with a sincere and watery smile. “If I’d known what he said…all that ‘right man’ _bullshit_ …”

“Lou, he figured it out,” Debbie said softly, running her hands up and down Lou’s sides. “He told me, came to see me as soon as he heard I got arrested. It was a serious risk, but he did it, and I hated him for it a little bit. He apologized for what he’d said, for all that stuff, and it’s _definitely_ not why I punched him today. He knew; he _told_ me to call you from jail.”

“And you did,” Lou said, running a shaking hand through her own hair. “You called me.”

“I did.” Debbie reached up and cupped Lou’s cheek in her hand, swiping tears away with her thumb. “I called you, and you came back.”

“I…I did.” Lou nodded. “But Debbie, _honey_ , it’s…it’s okay. What you felt…we’ve all…”

Debbie nodded. “I know,” she said quietly, leaning forward to bury her face in Lou’s chest. Her necklaces were cold and soothing against her flushed cheeks. “I felt guilty for a long time, but then I decided that was a waste of my time.”

Lou gave a grunt of humorless laughter and clutched Debbie’s head to her chest, pressing kisses into her hair. “Glad you realized that,” she muttered against Debbie’s scalp.

“I never thought I would feel those things – that _shame_ – again, and then today…today – in that dream – I _did_.”

“No wonder you were sick,” Lou said quietly. She stroked Debbie’s back. Debbie took a deep breath, inhaling the combined scents of Lou’s perfume from this morning and the new Tom Ford cologne she’d sampled when they returned from their excursion to Barneys. She felt better, _much_ better. Nevertheless, it felt as though the past two days had dragged on for at least a week (had it really only been twenty-four hours since she’d awoken from that first nightmare?). Debbie felt isolated, even wrapped up in Lou. It was almost as though she _missed_ Lou, even though she was right there, _right_ there. Between the two of them, touch was everything, and right now it felt like nothing could ever be enough.

“Baby,” Debbie murmured. The warmth of her breath left fog on the chains of Lou’s necklaces. “I want…” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, leaning back to see Lou’s face once more.

“What do you want, Debs?” The low pitch of Lou’s voice told Debbie she already knew the answer.

“I want _you_. I want to _feel_ you.”

“Debbie…” Lou’s voice was wary, and Debbie understood, knew how vulnerable and uncertain she must seem. And oh, she loved Lou for that note of caution in her voice.  

“I’m not trying to put a band-aid on this,” she said firmly and deliberately. “I _promise_ , I’m not. This isn’t about forgetting about Claude, though…” She considered the idea. “…if I could I would.” She sighed and looked into Lou’s patient, trusting eyes. “This whole ‘relaxation’ thing, you know?”

Lou nodded and narrowed her eyes slightly, concentrating on Debbie’s words.

“This whole thing,” Debbie continued, “I would stop right now, except I think I _can_ teach my brain to relax because…because I did it with _you_. It took me almost twenty years to just _be_ with you, but I did it. I did.”

Lou blushed and dropped her gaze from Debbie’s for a moment. “That’s quite a line, Ocean.”

“Shut up,” Debbie smiled and pinched Lou’s waist.

Lou jumped at the sensation and then caught her gaze again, serious once more. “You _are_ with me, Debs. I know.”

“I have to get through this first part, the dreams, the hard shit,” Debbie said, speaking with more certainty than she felt, but feeling a bubble of confidence bloom in her chest nonetheless. “It makes me so happy, baby, that I can just _be_ with you, that I can just _love_ you—” She broke off, surprised and pleased at how easily the word had fallen from her mouth.

Lou leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Go on,” she murmured.

“—without overanalyzing everything. I know it’s not perfect, but for me…for me, it’s _amazing_.” She felt the corners of her mouth twitch. Lou blushed again, making Debbie’s heart beat faster. “I need you to remind me how _good_ I feel – how _normal_ I feel – with you.” She tucked a finger under Lou’s chin and pulled her mouth close to her own lips. “That’s all I want,” Debbie said. “I promise.”

“Deborah Ocean, you will _never_ be normal to me.” Lou’s hands moved to frame her face.

“You know what I mean,” Debbie said, rolling her eyes.

“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” Lou said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, really? I sort of thought you were asking for the opposite.” Lou smirked and slid her hands over the front of Debbie’s shirt.

Debbie smirked a tacit agreement to Lou’s words and felt her breath catch in her throat as Lou’s fingers began to delicately undo each of her buttons.

“You are _beautiful_ , Debbie,” Lou murmured, her mouth soft against Debbie’s temple. “You are strong and sexy, and you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You’re probably the smartest person in the world.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Lou,” Debbie groaned, equal parts joy, exasperation, and arousal.

“I will spend the rest of my _life_ trying to show you how special you are,” Lou whispered, undoing the final button of Debbie’s shirt and sliding her warm hands over Debbie’s stomach and rib cage. Her gaze focused on Debbie’s, and she stilled her hands. Debbie stared up at her, recognizing a tender sincerity in Lou’s eyes despite the air of mischief. It was Debbie’s turn to blush this time. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and turned away from Lou’s gaze. Sometimes those blue eyes were so beautiful it was hard to look at them directly.

“Lou…” she murmured.

“Marrying you was the most _extraordinary_ , the most _mind-fucking_ , and the most _normal_ thing I’ve ever done,” Lou said. She tilted Debbie’s chin until their eyes met once more, and Debbie caught a momentary glimpse of fire in her eyes. She barely had time to register the ringing truth of her words before Lou’s mouth collided into hers.

“Take me upstairs, baby,” Debbie gasped a minute later, craving the space and the poignancy of their bed.

And Lou did.

 

**

 

Hours later, Debbie curled into Lou’s side and felt a soft hand come to rest on her shoulder. Lou was leaning against the headboard of their bed reading yet another motorcycle magazine. Debbie nuzzled her nose against her hip as Lou’s fingers traced patterns on her skin. Her limbs felt pleasurably heavy – worn out and languid from Lou’s gentle and persistent ministrations throughout the afternoon and into the evening. It was late now – Debbie wasn’t sure of the time, but it was fully dark outside. The light from Lou’s reading lamp was soft and warm, not unlike the feeling of Lou’s skin beneath her cheek or the lingering taste of the kiss they’d shared when they’d crawled into bed after a late dinner.   

“Love you, Debs,” Lou said. She squeezed Debbie’s shoulder lightly and then continued the gentle stroking of her fingers.

“You’re amazing,” Debbie murmured, tilting her head just enough so the words wouldn’t be lost in Lou’s skin. “You make me feel—”

“—normal?”

Debbie smiled. “I was going to say fantastic, but in this case, maybe it’s the same thing.” Lou hummed a quiet laugh, and Debbie smiled.

“Are you scared to sleep?”

“I think I’m too tired to be scared,” Debbie said. She felt as if she were two people: one sated and relaxed and inches from sleep, the other wound so tight with nerves that every muscle ached. Somehow though, the exhausted version of herself had control, and she felt her eyelids becoming heavier with each stroke of Lou’s hand over her skin. She yawned.  

“I’ll be awake for a while,” Lou said quietly, and Debbie wondered if she knew how reassuring that fact was.

“Will you keep the light on until you fall asleep?”

“Missing those prison fluorescents, Jailbird?” Lou smiled down at her.

The comfort of the joke flowed like a wave over Debbie. “Something like that,” she thought she heard herself say, but she couldn’t be sure because everything was gone.

 

**

 

Blood…

 

**

 

Debbie’s eyes fluttered open, and she was dimly aware of the warmth of Lou and the sound of the slowly-turned page of a magazine.

 

**

 

Marble, this time: Danny’s grave. Debbie stood in front of it as she had early that morning. Yellow sunlight bathed the white stones through the doors of the mausoleum. She felt the anger and sadness in the pit of her stomach once more as she swung her fist at the wall. As if in slow motion, her knuckles crumbled against Danny’s engraved name. She saw her skin break and burst like torn paper. Round, shining droplets of blood sped in all directions, their surface tension trembling and perfect before shattering against the marble.

Spidery cracks appeared in the stone, spreading outwards from each of the red specks she’d put there. The wall split like a bolt of lightning, and blood poured from the cracks. Danny’s blood? Her blood? Or was it the same thing…?

 

**

 

Debbie awoke with a gasp, breath hot and moist against Lou’s skin.

“I’ve got you,” Lou whispered with a squeeze to her shoulder, “Sleep, Debbie. Sleep.”

 

**

 

Blood pooled around her feet and rose to reach the tips of her fingers where they hung limply at her sides. Shadows moved and crisscrossed, dancing against the sunlit windows. Phantoms of faceless people stepped around her, paying no heed to the tears now streaming from her eyes. She didn’t dare wipe them away; couldn’t bear to leave streaks of red on her face from her bloodied fingertips. She turned her head from side, trying to recognize the figures stepping around her, searching for a friendly face.

Foreboding grew in the pit of her stomach. She recognized the emotions that seemed to spill from the people around her: anger, triumph, satisfaction. Debbie abruptly ceased her search for a friendly face, knowing with absolute surety that she wouldn’t find one here. Instead, she turned her head from side to side like a caged animal, suddenly realizing the existence of the trap. Her eyes fell on a figure in the corner of her right eye, bathing its hands in the bloody fountain like all the others. The figure’s movements gave it away. How many times had Debbie remembered that particular roll of a shoulder, or shivered when she thought she recognized the tilt of a head? She could almost feel the way the woman’s knife had slid so easily down her side and between her ribs, not deep enough, but _close_.

Debbie looked down at her own left side, almost expecting to see dark blood seeping through an orange jumpsuit just as it had that day many years ago. But she was still wearing the black blouse Lou had chosen that morning, and as she shifted her weight, she felt a tautness of her skin that told her the scar was already there. Debbie barely paid attention to the mark anymore, but Lou did. Lou would pass lips and tongue and teeth over the tortured skin, _loving_ her…

 

**

 

Lou’s chest rose and fell inches from Debbie’s face, bare of her necklaces (bare of everything) and _warm_. The room was dark now. Lou’s breathing was slow and easy, and Debbie felt – with profound certainty – that Lou was comforted by her the same way she was comforted by Lou. Give and take, push and pull – always. Debbie turned over, her back flush against Lou’s chest, and slept once more.

 

**

 

Blood. Blood and the shadows of all the nameless, faceless people caught (by chance) between Danny Ocean and a take…

 

**

 

Lou tugged Debbie into her chest without waking up. Her hand cupped her breast with a firm, comforting pressure. Debbie prayed that eventually she would be too exhausted to dream as her eyes blinked shut yet again.

 

**

 

Debbie’s knuckles stung, and she looked down to see fresh droplets of blood fall from her hand and vanish into the ocean of red around her. Her body felt heavy as lead, succumbing to the heavy liquid lapping around her knees…

 

**

 

The softest hint of gray light flitted over the bed. Debbie was holding Lou now, clutching her against her chest like some sort of security blanket made entirely of pointy elbows and sinewy shoulders. Her right hand throbbed dully, and Debbie half expected to see blood dripping from her fingers as she raised them from Lou’s rib cage to check for any bruising around the bandage. Everything appeared normal, and Debbie felt sleep rolling over her once more. She listened to the steady flow of Lou’s breathing and tried to think of nothing else…

 

**

 

Red filled her field of vision. It darkened to choking blackness, and Debbie was drowning.

And then…nothing.

Nothing…

 

**

 

And then blue. Blue eyes stared back at her as Debbie blinked awake. Lou smiled softly and leaned in to kiss her as her mind caught up to the bright light of mid-morning filling their room.

“I love you,” Lou murmured against Debbie’s lips, just as she had in this very bed, on another bright summer morning, for the very first time. Debbie smiled back at her and breathed a sigh of relief that she was waking to a kiss instead of to sobs or to nausea.

“Hi,” she said softly, tucking her head under Lou’s chin and considering whether or not to drop off again.

“You slept, Debbie.”

Debbie nodded, but said nothing. She was determined not to cry, to wake this _one_ time without tears, but it was proving difficult. The countless interrupted hours of sleep were certainly an improvement from the last two days, but falling in and out of pools of blood had been far from restful. She felt hungover and inexplicably lonely.

“Was it…okay?” Lou asked tentatively.

Debbie shook her head again and found her voice this time. “No,” she said, almost inaudibly. “But it was better.”

“It’s a start, Debs. It’s a start.” Debbie leaned into the hand now stroking over her hair and hoped against hope that Lou was right.


	5. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ENTR’ACTE
> 
> “All the world’s a stage And all the men and women merely players.” As You Like It (II, 7)

Why did we tell them lunch instead of dinner?” Debbie lay flat on her back in the middle of the bed with the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes.

“Well, if you recall,” Lou said, flopping half-dressed onto the bed and rolling over until she was positioned on top of Debbie, hips cradled between Debbie’s thighs. “Daphne _suggested_ dinner, and you made a _very_ convincing speech about how lunch was a better option because then everyone would be less likely to stay overnight and make noise complaints about us over breakfast on Monday.”

Debbie groaned in frustration and let her arms fall back onto the bed, looking up into Lou’s face, which showed a mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“After that,” Lou continued, “everyone agreed to lunch and started comparing our ‘best’ moments. Do you want a refresher on what those were?” Lou didn’t wait for Debbie’s response, but plowed forward, “My favorite was the one where Tammy found out the _real_ reason we couldn’t return our clothes from the Met Ball—”

“ _Stop_.” Debbie attempted to lean upwards to silence Lou with a kiss, but Lou pulled her head away at the last moment, dodging her lips with a mischievous smile. Debbie groaned again. “Why is your memory so good?”

“Says the woman who _literally_ knows every street of New York.”

“Yes, and sometimes I have to delete things to maintain that knowledge.”

“You delete conversations with your friends to make room for knowing which alleyways have the best fire escapes?”

“…Maybe?” Debbie averted her eyes from Lou’s face, slightly abashed.

“Do you delete conversations with _me_?”

Debbie’s eyes found Lou once more and held her gaze. “Never, baby. You’re a special case.” She brought her uninjured left hand up to cup Lou’s jaw, running her thumb affectionately over her cheekbone.  

“Glad to hear it.” Lou leaned down and licked her way up Debbie’s neck, over her jaw, and into her mouth. Her forearms came to rest on either side of Debbie’s head, hands tangling in her hair. Debbie moaned into her, glad for an excuse to close her eyes against her pounding headache brought on by lack of sleep and the distinct feeling of having her brain wrung like a damp sponge.

“Can’t we just cancel?” she asked breathlessly as Lou moved away from Debbie’s lips and planted kisses down the left side of her neck to her shoulder.

Lou paused in the process of creating a dark red mark at the base of Debbie’s neck. “You know what they’ll say,” she said in a cautionary tone.

Debbie winced, though it turned to a squirm as Lou’s mouth moved lower and her breath ghosted over her nipple. “Maybe I don’t care,” she said in an attempt at nonchalance.   

“They’ll make jokes about all the sex we have,” Lou warned. She switched her attention to Debbie’s other breast.  

Debbie shrugged, though the effect was diluted by the soft whimper that fought its way out of her mouth. Her voice was higher than usual when she found it. “We _do_ have a lot of sex.”

“They’ll ask us about positions…” Lou flicked out her tongue and licked a perfect circle around Debbie’s nipple. “…toys…” She sucked hard, and Debbie felt a shiver of warmth run through her whole body.

“T…Toys?” Her brain caught up enough to focus half on the word itself, dripping with potential, and half on the pressing conversation.   

“Yup.” Lou looked up at her and allowed the aspiration of the ‘p’ to glance off the sensitive skin under Debbie’s breast. Lou moved downwards to nibble Debbie’s hip bone, and Debbie took a deep shuddering breath, unsure when her complaints about their friends’ early arrival had turned into _this_ , but also not the least bit sorry that it had.

“We can…” She interrupted herself with a moan as Lou ran a single, teasing finger through the wetness between Debbie’s legs. “We can lie,” Debbie gasped.

“They’ll ask which of us is usually on top—”

“Jesus _Christ_!” Debbie pushed herself into a seated position in one fluid motion, which made her bruised hand twinge. “ _Ouch._ Fine. Okay. We won’t cancel.” Lou laughed and kneeled so they were face to face once more. Debbie sighed and ran her fingers through Lou’s hair.    

“I can be very convincing,” Lou murmured, running her hands up Debbie’s thighs.

“Do we have time to…?”

Lou sat back on her heels and checked the time on the gold Rolex. “Only if you’re fast,” she answered, shifting to lie between Debbie’s legs.

“I’ll leave that to you, baby.” Debbie sank back onto the pillows, the end of the sentence turning to a moan as Lou’s sucked hard between her legs and simultaneously slid two fingers inside her. It took only a few well-aimed thrusts of Lou’s wrist to make Debbie’s thighs begin to tremble. Lou reached her free hand up to Debbie’s left breast and kneaded her flesh between her fingers. Debbie’s hands found the backs of her knees, pulling them up to give Lou deeper access. The slight change of angle was all it took, and Debbie was gone – shattering under Lou like glass. Lou kept her tongue moving in gentle circles until it all became too much, and Debbie pulled her by the shoulders into a messy, bruising kiss. Lou’s fingers wiggled between their lips, and Debbie sucked them into her mouth one-by-one, licking them clean.

“ _God_ , you’re good,” Lou said, leaning her forehead against Debbie’s and watching Debbie’s tongue. Debbie released Lou’s fingers after a moment and leaned in to kiss her, softly this time.

“Thanks, baby,” she whispered when they broke apart.

“Feeling better, Debs?” Lou’s tone was sincere now; the mischief had passed.

“A bit, yeah,” Debbie said, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck as she swung her legs off the bed and stood up. “I’m just…used to getting more sleep.”

“I know, honey,” Lou said, following Debbie into the bathroom and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek before picking up her eyeliner. “I know.”

 

**

 

“So, what I hear you saying is that you got us all hyped up about a rollercoaster job and there _is no actual rollercoaster_?”

Debbie saw Lou roll her eyes, perched as usual on a stair a few steps from the floor. Debbie looked back at Constance and settled her elbows on the stage behind her. “Why would there be an actual rollercoaster?” Constance looked back at her blankly, as if Debbie’s question was ludicrous. Debbie sipped from her bottle of beer and raised her eyebrows.

“You have thirty-eight mill – no, hang on – you have _way more_ than that between you and Lou…” Constance gestured over at Lou who grinned back at her and snapped her gum. “…plus the pay out from this job…” Constance was ticking off items against her hand as though she could quantify millions of dollars on ten fingers. She gave up and looked between Debbie and Lou with an incredulous expression. “ _You didn’t build the rollercoaster?_ ”

“Nope,” Debbie said, shaking her head once and hiding her grin behind another swig of beer. Constance stared at her for a second and then walked away to slump on the couch next to Amita.

“Deb, what’d you do to your hand?”

“What?” Debbie turned to see Tammy pointing to her bandaged knuckles.

Debbie didn’t know what to say. The truth was far too personal for comfort, and while she trusted everyone in the room implicitly, she still had an image to maintain. In the time it took for her to register Tammy’s question, everyone else had spotted the bandage and was now gazing curiously at her.

“Probably sex related,” Constance said in a whisper that everyone could here.

“ _Constance._ ” Amita smacked her in the arm.

“What? I’m not _judging_.”

“Okay, enough,” said Debbie, holding up a hand, and hoping an excuse would fall out of her mouth. But her brain was moving at half its normal speed with so little sleep, and her temples were pounding, _and_ her goddamn knuckles were still throbbing, come to think of it…  

“She fell at Luna Park,” Lou said, sauntering behind the group now gathered around Debbie and throwing her a wink as she grabbed another beer from the fridge.  

Debbie felt relief pool in her stomach, and she fixed a convincing look of embarrassment on her face. “Y…Yeah, we were celebrating, and I got a little carried away.” She sighed. “Lou can tell you more about it than I can.”

“Hm.” Tammy made a skeptical noise, and Debbie shot her a warning look as the others turned their attention back to other matters. She fidgeted with the gauze around her wrist and was grateful when Lou walked over to lean next to her by the stage.

“Now that we know Constance was expecting a rollercoaster, they’ll probably find the actual story pretty boring,” Debbie said quietly.

Lou shrugged. “Maybe, but they like hearing you talk.”

“Because I’m hot when I’m clever?” Debbie asked with a crooked smile.

“Probably, Debs,” Lou said, nodding seriously. “Probably, I mean, Constance _definitely_ has a thing for you, or maybe for _us_ , if you know what I mean. And Tammy—”

“We’re not starting this again.” Debbie fixed Lou with a hard stare. Lou burst out laughing, and Debbie smiled.

“You _are_ good, though, Debs,” Lou said, eyes twinkling. “And they know it.”  

“Cheers,” Debbie said quietly, clinking her bottle against Lou’s.

They both drank in silence, shoulders brushing comfortably. Every so often, Lou reached out and ran a finger over the bandage on Debbie’s right hand. She had a feeling that Lou didn’t even realize she was doing it, but Debbie was grateful all the same. She had paid extra attention to her clothes and her makeup before descending into the crowd on the main floor, but even so, Debbie felt unsteady – out of her element in a situation that would have normally been one hundred percent _hers_. The subtle touches to her hand told Debbie that Lou _knew_ , that she hadn’t forgotten the discomfort of the past few days.

With the help of three large pizzas, plenty of beer, and surprisingly perceptive questions from Daphne, the story of the Coney Island Job was told in bits and pieces throughout the afternoon.  Debbie noticed – though she wasn’t sure anyone else did – that Lou took the lead on the storytelling. Debbie filled in a detail here and there, adding specific numbers and times and places, and vaguely noting the impressed looks on the faces around her when she did so. She, however, had eyes only for Lou, and more than once she found her concentration on the story slipping in lieu of watching Lou explain their success. She talked with her hands and with her eyes, holding the entire room in her spell. Is this what Lou saw in her? Debbie wondered. Because Lou _was_ hot, and she _was_ clever, but she was also so much more than that. She was _beautiful_ – triumphant, perhaps – and Debbie found herself awash in both inadequacy and deep, deep pride.

“And in the last meeting, Debbie stole this watch right off the wrist of Zamperla’s secretary.” Lou held up her left hand to allow the diamonds to catch the light. “So, all in all, it was a success.”

“Holy shit,” Amita whispered, appraising the watch with a professional eye.

“Damn,” Nine Ball muttered, looking up from her laptop.

Constance said nothing. She stared at the watch for almost a full minute. Then she got up, handed her beer to Amita, and walked up to Debbie where she was leaning against the bannister of the metal stairs. Debbie barely had time to notice Constance before she was enveloped in a hug so tight that all of the air left her lungs. Debbie gasped and wrapped her arms loosely around Constance’s shoulders, patting her awkwardly on the back. Looking over the top of Constance’s head, she saw laughter dancing in Lou’s eyes. When Constance finally released her, Debbie suspected that a few of her ribs might need to be reset.

“You must really love her,” Constance said, in a slightly choked voice. “That Rolex…” Apparently overcome with emotion, Constance shook her head back and forth a few times and walked away from the group with her hands in the air.

“Yeah,” Debbie said, still standing where Constance had released her and looking over at Lou. “I do.” Debbie smiled self-indulgently, and then blushed when she realized that everyone had heard her. She turned away to hide the half-embarrassed, half-lovestruck grin spreading across her face as Nine Ball wolf-whistled and the group returned to their conversations. After a moment, she felt rather than heard Lou approach her.

“Hey, honey,” Lou said, laying a firm hand on her shoulder. Debbie turned to look at her and felt very much that she would like to never stop looking. “I think Constance has forgiven you for the lack of a rollercoaster.”

Debbie laughed in spite of herself, and reached a hand up to straighten Lou’s bangs (a lost cause, but she couldn’t resist touching her, and this was as good an excuse as any). “Yeah?” she asked quietly.

“Definitely.” Lou leaned forward and nuzzled Debbie’s neck, which only made the heat in her cheeks increase.

Constance wandered back into the room a few minutes later, looking as determined as ever. “I love you,” she said, walking straight up to Debbie with her eyes flicking between her face and the watch on Lou’s wrist draped over Debbie’s shoulder. Then she turned abruptly on her heel to rejoin Amita on the couch.

Debbie smiled and tightened her hold on Lou’s waist next to her. “She didn’t mean that in a sexual way, right?”

“Not _this_ time,” Lou answered quickly through a smirk.

Amused affection rose in Debbie’s chest, and she turned to brush her lips against Lou’s ear. “I love them all, too,” she muttered.

“I know you do,” Lou replied with a soft smile. “And no,” she added in response to the look on Debbie’s face. “I won’t tell them.”

A lump rose in Debbie’s throat as she surveyed the room, and she told herself it was probably just from the exhaustion. She wasn’t prone to bouts of sentimentality, but she also couldn’t deny that this was…comfortable. She hadn’t planned for this. She’d expected to be on her own after the Met Heist – even Lou’s continued presence had been far from certain. But that had been more than fifteen months ago, and the loft was still full of conversation and _life_. That was surprising enough in and of itself, but the fact that it made Debbie _happy_ – that was something else. Debbie wasn’t a people person. She understood how people worked the same way she understood how trigonometry worked. She knew how to manipulate better than she knew how to make friends. Lou had known what she was doing when she had called in her favors to pull this team together, and Debbie knew that no amount of money could have been a better welcome-home-from-prison present than this: a family.

“Hanging in there?” Lou asked as Debbie tucked her head onto Lou’s shoulder.

“Just about,” Debbie replied. She could feel her eyelids growing heavier but she didn’t want to tell them all to leave just yet.

“Come on,” Lou said, tugging Debbie over to an empty armchair and pulling her onto her lap.

Tammy shot them a wink from the chair opposite them, and Debbie raised an eyebrow at her, silently warning her against any comments that included the words “soft” or “domestic.” Tammy rolled her eyes and pushed herself out of her chair. She walked around the back of the couch and approached Debbie and Lou without drawing much attention to herself, perching on the arm of the couch and leaning towards them.

“So,” she said, gesturing to Debbie’s bandaged hand, “what actually happened, Deb?”

“Lou told you. Coney Island. Too much booze,” Debbie said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.

“You’re infuriating,” Tammy said with a hard look.

Lou snorted with laughter and said nothing. Debbie pinched her thigh, and was pleased when Lou squirmed beneath her.

“Look, Debbie,” Tammy said, “I don’t care. I _really_ don’t.” She reached out and patted Debbie’s knee in a reassuring way. “But,” she continued after a moment, “you should know that whatever happened, no one’s going to think any less of you. I promise.”

Debbie grimaced and looked away, unsure of what to say.

“She’s right, Debs,” Lou said, squeezing her hand.

Tammy shot Lou a grateful look. “Debbie, I know you well enough to know something’s up, okay?” She said with another pat to Debbie’s knee.  

Debbie winced, but she met Tammy’s eyes all the same. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.

“Honestly, no,” Tammy said, offering a small smile that Debbie returned. “You – well, you _and_ Lou – are as mysterious as ever. Don’t worry.”

“You better believe it, Tim Tam,” Lou muttered through a smirk. Debbie twisted her head to kiss Lou’s cheek appreciatively, but when her lips met Lou’s skin she found it was too comforting to pull away just yet. She let her mouth linger on Lou’s jaw.   

“The _point_ is,” Tammy said, reeling Debbie back into the conversation from where she was in danger of getting lost in Lou’s perfume, “you’re not at risk of losing even an _ounce_ of anyone’s respect, okay? Not matter what.”

Debbie chewed on the inside of her cheek and didn’t reply, considering Tammy’s words.

“Well said,” Lou said, reaching out to pat Tammy’s hand where it still rested on Debbie’s knee. Tammy smiled and removed her hand after a moment, tacitly indicating that she’d said what she came to say, and Debbie could take it or leave it as she would.

“Thanks, Tammy,” Debbie said, finally finding her voice and giving Tammy a sincere smile.

Tammy winked and got up from the arm of the couch to sidle behind their chair. “Anytime. Besides,” she whispered, leaning down so that her face was between Debbie’s and Lou’s, “listening to the two of you have _incredibly_ loud sex wasn’t enough to diminish their respect, so at this point, I don’t think anything could.” She straightened up and walked towards the kitchen, no doubt to fetch another round of drinks, leaving Lou to chuckle at the stricken look on Debbie’s face.

 

**

 

The party broke up about an hour later when Daphne started asking to see pictures of the disguises she’d provided for the Honeymoon Heist. Nine Ball had been at the point of pulling up some security footage on her laptop when she happened to glance up and catch a forbidding look from Debbie. Apparently deciding that Debbie’s wrath was scarier than Daphne’s disappointment, Nine Ball shut the laptop again, muttered something about plans with Veronica, and slipped a few joints of very expensive pot into Debbie’s hand on the way out the door. Debbie slid the package into the back pocket of Lou’s leather pants and brought her other hand to the back of Lou’s head, pulling her into a kiss that told everyone else it was time to get moving. Debbie heard the shifting of chairs and the click-clack of Constance’s skateboard moving hurriedly towards the door, and then there came the loud thud of the door that told her she was alone with Lou once more.

“I guess that’s one way of telling them to leave,” Lou said breathlessly, leaning her forehead against Debbie’s with her hands wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Wasn't sure it would work,” Debbie admitted, “I half expected them to want to stay for the show.”

Lou hummed a quiet laugh against Debbie’s jaw. “And what show would that be, honey?” She planted a series of open-mouthed kisses across Debbie’s neck and shoulders.

“Want to taste you,” Debbie gasped as Lou’s tongue flicked over a particularly sensitive spot.

“Well, that _would_ be quite the show,” Lou said, running her hands up and down Debbie’s sides.

Debbie pulled away with a gentle tug on Lou’s hand. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

“Shower first?”

“ _God_ , yes.”

Debbie could feel Lou’s eyes following the sway of her hips all the way up the stairs, along the balcony, and through to their en suite bathroom. Lou’s eyes twinkled as Debbie placed her hands on her chest and began to carefully undo the buttons of yet another vest – maroon this time. She fumbled slightly due to her bandaged knuckles, but it didn’t take long before she was slipping the fabric from Lou’s shoulders and bending to capture a nipple in her mouth.

“No bra?” Debbie murmured against Lou’s skin as she licked across to her other breast, now attempting blindly to remove Lou’s necklaces.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Lou said, her own hands moving upwards to briefly cup Debbie’s breasts over her shirt before helping with her own necklaces. “Had to lose the underwear, too, after I fucked you this morning,” she muttered as the final necklace clattered onto the bathroom table.

“Really?” Debbie asked, rasping slightly as her mouth went dry.

“Really,” Lou said with a suggestive smile. “They were practically ruined.” She grabbed Debbie’s left hand and shoved it roughly into the front of her leather pants. “See?”  

“ _Fuck,_ ” Debbie groaned and leaned her head into Lou’s chest as her fingers encountered damp heat and no waistband. She had wanted to go slow, but the hungry expression on Lou’s face made that exceedingly difficult as she pulled her hand out of Lou’s pants just enough to undo the button and slide the zipper downwards. Lou pushed the pants to the floor as Debbie stepped back and began unbuttoning her own shirt, eyes fixed on Lou, whose pupils had grown ever so slightly wider even in the relatively bright light of the bathroom. Debbie’s shirt and slacks joined the pile of Lou’s clothes on the floor, but she turned away still clad in her bra and underwear, allowing Lou a full view of her lace-accented backside as she turned on the shower.

“ _Jesus_ , Debbie,” Lou muttered, almost as though she was speaking to herself, “do you _know_ how hot you are?”

Debbie swept a hand through her hair as she turned back to face her, grinning at the obvious infatuation on Lou’s face. “You’re one to talk, baby,” she said, making sure Lou saw the way her eyes traveled up Lou’s legs to her torso and breasts, finally settling on her eyes with a meaningful gaze. Debbie unclasped her own bra and let it fall to the floor, followed quickly by her underwear. Lou’s lips parted slightly, and Debbie smiled as she opened the door to the shower and led them both inside.  

The shower, which they’d decided to keep even after installing the giant bathtub, had glass doors and new stone tiling of Debbie’s choosing. She had told Lou (somewhat truthfully) that she liked the terra cotta color, but they both knew that the stone also provided a less slippery surface for _other_ activities. Today, though Debbie planned for the shower to be a detour rather than an end destination, she couldn’t resist pinning Lou against the wall under the cascade of warm water.

“You really shouldn’t be getting this wet,” Lou said weakly, tugging at the bandage on Debbie’s hand where it rested on Lou’s hip.

Debbie hummed an agreement into Lou’s neck and tugged the ruined gauze from her hand. “Good chance to clean it, anyway,” she mumbled, distracted by Lou, but still wincing as the water hit the partially healed cuts on her knuckles.

“Here,” Lou said, pulling Debbie’s hand up between them and cupping water in her hands to wash it. It felt better than the direct spray of the shower. The heat between them smoldered temporarily, replaced by a few minutes of tenderness as Lou gently handled Debbie’s hand.   

“Thanks,” Debbie said. “You…you always take good care of me, you know?” She leaned her forehead against Lou’s.  

“That’s my job, honey.” Lou brought their lips together with a firm hand on the back of Debbie’s head. Debbie smiled against Lou’s mouth and moved a hand up her stomach to pinch her nipple. Lou gasped, and Debbie felt her eyelids flutter.

“Can I take care of _you_ now, baby?” Debbie whispered, turning her head so that her lips pressed against the skin under Lou’s right ear. She slid the fingers of her left hand teasingly down Lou’s chest and over her abdomen, coming to rest tracing patterns in her hip crease.

“Please,” Lou murmured, eyes closed and head resting against the tile wall.

Debbie drew lazy circles lower and lower, feeling the warm water mix with the slippery heat of Lou’s arousal between her thighs. She took her time, fascinated as ever by the way certain spots sent shivers through Lou’s entire body. Lou’s shoulders sank down the wall an inch or so as she parted her legs to allow Debbie easier access. Keeping her injured hand on Lou’s shoulder and out of the direct spray of the water, Debbie circled the tip of one finger very slowly around Lou’s entrance, allowing herself to dip inside every so often, but only with the gentlest of grazing touches. Lou tried to move her hips to grind onto Debbie’s hand, but Debbie pressed her more firmly into the wall with her own hips.

Lou groaned in frustration, and her eyes flew open to meet Debbie’s. “You _tease_.”

Debbie merely smiled and cocked her head innocently. She held Lou’s gaze as she continued the tantalizing movement of her left hand, adding a second finger but maintaining an agonizingly slow speed. Lou licked her lips and parted them slightly. Her breaths were coming more quickly now, but Debbie knew she needed more, and she herself was growing more and more impatient to crawl between Lou’s legs. With a final stroke, Debbie removed her fingers and lifted them to her mouth. She sucked hard, feeling her own arousal spark as she tasted the evidence of Lou’s. Lou watched her, eyes fixed on the hollowing of Debbie’s cheeks and the flicking of her tongue. Debbie released her own fingers from her mouth with an obscene ‘pop’ that was followed by a low moan from the back of Lou’s throat.  

“You taste so good, baby,” Debbie murmured.

“Bed,” Lou managed to say, though her voice sounded rough and even lower than usual. “Take me to _bed,_ Debbie.”

Debbie smirked and turned off the shower. Lou wrapped a single towel around them, drying them both perfunctorily and not even bothering with her damp hair. Debbie tugged her own hair into a pony tail as Lou watched. She winced once as the hair elastic slid over her injured hand, but she didn’t think Lou noticed because her eyes were fixed on Debbie’s breasts.

“ _Fuck_ , I’m lucky,” Lou said, with a slight shake of her head as Debbie walked towards her. She took Debbie’s hand and pulled her out of the bathroom towards their bed. Before Debbie realized what was happening, Lou had tugged Debbie on top of her as she fell onto the bed. She licked into Debbie’s mouth, and Debbie could practically taste her desperation.

“You know what I realized today?” Debbie asked breathlessly once Lou had released her. She planted wet kisses down Lou’s neck and chest, pausing to leave a mark on her collarbone and suck on her right nipple.

“What’s that?” Lou asked, propping herself on her elbows so she could watch as Debbie moved gradually down her body.

Debbie smirked up at her, mouth hovering less than an inch above the edge of Lou’s pubic hair. “You’re hot when you’re clever, too.”

Lou shook her head in disbelief and reached down to briefly cup the side of Debbie’s face. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. The question turned to a barely contained whimper as Debbie licked and nibbled her way lower and lower.

“Maybe a little,” Debbie admitted teasingly, finally replying to the question with her breath fluttering over Lou’s most sensitive skin.

Lou looked as though she was about to roll her eyes, but Debbie leaned in at the same moment and licked over her. Lou groaned and the crown of her head tipped backwards onto the pillows. She spread her own thighs wider, and Debbie hummed encouragement against her, drunk on the taste of Lou covering her tongue. Debbie _knew_ Lou – knew the exact places where she preferred light flicks of Debbie’s tongue or firm continuous pressure. This was familiar and safe, and yet there was nothing that could take Debbie’s breath away so completely every single time. Lou writhed beneath the arm that Debbie kept anchored over her hips, and she dug her fingers into her own thighs hard enough to bruise.

Debbie found that she was grinding her own hips into the bed, desperate to relieve the edge of her own arousal. She forced herself to stop, using all of her above-average concentration skills to focus her attention _only_ on Lou. Lou, who was her rock. Lou, who _cared_ in a way that Debbie aspired to care. Lou, who never seemed afraid to tell Debbie what she felt, how much she loved her. Debbie was proud, _indescribably proud_ , to be the one to hold all of that in her hands. She fixed her eyes on Lou’s face above her as she pressed two fingers inside her once more.

“ _Fuck_.” Lou’s curse was barely recognizable through the strangled quality of her voice. Her left hand moved from her own thigh to Debbie’s head, and Debbie could feel her trembling against the urge to press Debbie into her. The muscles in Lou’s thighs quivered, and Debbie knew she was close to release. Debbie sucked hard and moved her fingers inside Lou with greater purpose and impeccable aim, gratified by the quiet whimper that fought its way from Lou’s throat with every thrust of Debbie’s hand. Debbie circled her tongue, curling it in _just_ the way she knew Lou liked, and Lou’s whole body arched off the bed. The wetness around Debbie’s fingers increased, and she moved her tongue downwards to lick up the excess, keeping her fingers buried inside Lou until the waves of her pleasure subsided. Debbie felt her relax back onto the bed with a quiet moan. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, and Debbie couldn’t think of anything more beautiful.

Gently, Debbie removed her fingers and stroked Lou softly, head resting on her right arm still flung across Lou’s hip. She watched fascinated as each smooth motion of her fingers made the corners of Lou’s mouth twitch into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Lou’s hand came to rest on the back of Debbie’s head, gently undoing the hair elastic to let her long hair fall messily around her shoulders.

“That feels good,” Lou said, breaking the comfortable silence with a slight crack in her voice.

Debbie smiled and continued the gentle stroking motions of her slippery fingers. “Anything for you, baby,” she murmured against Lou’s skin.

Lou hummed contentedly and blinked her eyes open slowly to gaze down at Debbie. “Do you know how much I love you, Debs?”

Debbie considered her, eyes traveling over her sharp features. “Yeah, I think I do,” Debbie said finally. She didn’t need to explain, because Lou knew the implication of her words: _I know because I feel the same way about you._

“We’re lucky, honey,” Lou said, moving her hand to caress Debbie’s face.

“ _So_ lucky,” Debbie agreed with a half-smile. She pushed herself up the bed to lay her head on Lou’s shoulder, her body flush against Lou’s left side. Almost unconsciously, Debbie wiggled her hips against her. Lou turned her head to look at her with raised eyebrows, and Debbie tried to keep her face impassive. This had been about Lou, after all, and she didn’t want Lou to feel any obligation. Granted, that didn’t change the fact that she was practically dripping onto the sheets, and she knew Lou wasn’t one to let that pass.

“How long is it going to take for you to ask me to fuck you?” Lou asked as casually as if she were asking about running an errand or robbing a liquor store. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the apparently unconvincing look of innocence that Debbie was desperately trying to paint over her face.

“I’ve been told I’m _very_ stubborn,” Debbie replied with a shrug, trying and failing to keep up her pretense of unconcern as Lou moved her thigh to subtly press between her legs.

Lou grinned and shook her head. “You are that.”

Debbie nuzzled closer and kissed Lou’s neck. “Wanted this to be all for you, baby.”

Lou moved so quickly that Debbie gasped. She leaned over Debbie who was now flat on her back on her bed. “And what if _I_ want to fuck you?” Lou practically growled into the sensitive skin right below Debbie’s ear.

Debbie sighed in mock exasperation. “Well, if you must—” Lou’s lips descended on hers before she could finish her quip. She ran her fingers appreciatively down Lou’s spine and then let her hands fall to the side. Lou ran her hands down both of Debbie’s arms and entwined their fingers, gently moving Debbie’s arms above her head. The feeling of Lou’s strong grip on her left hand juxtaposed to her delicate handling of her injured right was enough to make Debbie swoon. She relaxed under Lou, letting her nerves sing with each unexpected touch.

“Tell me what you want,” Lou said, pulling away after a few minutes to give Debbie a hard, searching look.

Debbie blushed under her gaze, slightly shy to say the words she’d been thinking about all day.

Lou narrowed her eyes. “Debbie?”

Debbie averted her eyes from Lou’s and felt her heart beat faster as she opened her mouth. “Well…well, you mentioned…mentioned _toys_ this morning, and I just thought…” She felt her face turning red and knew that Lou was loving every second of her abashed stuttering.

“Just thought…?” Lou prompted with a laugh in her voice.

“Just thought maybe you could…? I mean, we haven’t done _that_ in a while, so…” Debbie trailed off and looked at Lou with what she knew was a soppy imploring look that Lou would never let her live down.

Lou leaned forward to plant kisses along Debbie’s jaw up towards her ear. “You want the strap?” she murmured, breath ruffling Debbie’s hair and sending shivers down her spine.

“Yes, I do,” Debbie managed to reply with an attempt at a dignified tone.

“You could’ve just said so,” Lou replied teasingly. She pulled away from Debbie with a smug smile and swung her legs off her side of the bed to dig in one of the drawers of her bedside table.

Debbie lay still with her arms above her head, her body aching with anticipation and her mind fixed on the sounds of Lou adjusting the harness and spreading lube over silicone. Debbie felt she would probably explode if she looked at her, so she closed her eyes and let the thrumming warmth of her body fill her thoughts. A minute later, she felt Lou settle onto the bed and opened her eyes to see her lying on her side next to her with a glint in her eye that was somehow at odds with the fondness of her smile as she looked at Debbie.

“Are you ready for me?” Lou asked softly, reaching out to run the back of her left hand down Debbie’s sternum, nails grazing lightly against her skin.

Debbie smiled and pushed Lou’s hand firmly between her legs. “Seems like I am, doesn’t it?” she said breathlessly.

“ _Christ_ , Debs,” Lou groaned, her head tipped forward to brush Debbie’s shoulder. Her fingers moved gently, spreading the wetness between Debbie’s thighs. “Is this what I do to you?”

Debbie hummed a soft noise of assent that turned to a moan as Lou brushed over swollen skin. “ _Fuck_ ,” Debbie whispered. She reached out her left hand and found the length of slippery silicone jutting from between Lou’s hips. Rolling onto her side to face Lou, she finally moved her right hand from above her head to nudge gently at Lou’s shoulder.

Lou settled her back onto the pillows at the head of the bed, and Debbie pulled herself over her, knees bent on either side of Lou’s hips. She felt the hard plastic pressing between her thighs and rolled herself over its length, pleased at the way Lou’s eyelids fluttered at the pressure against her already-sensitive nerves. Debbie raised her hips and held herself steady against Lou’s shoulder with her right hand, reaching down with her left to guide herself onto the strap. Pain shot through her right hand, and she winced.

“Here,” Lou said, clearly noticing her momentary discomfort and moving her own hands between them to help.

Debbie rested both forearms on Lou’s shoulders and gasped as she felt the hard tip of the silicone against her entrance. She circled her hips, adjusting to the width and feeling of the strap, and then sank slowly onto the full length. The blood rushing in her ears was urging her to move faster, but she wanted to savor this – the closeness of Lou pressed up against her, the way Lou’s hands were moving slowly up and down her back.

“Do you know how amazing you look?” Lou murmured, leaning forward so Debbie felt the words against her mouth. Lou’s hands came to rest on Debbie’s hips, her thumbs massaging gentle circles on her lower abdomen.

“You feel so good, baby,” Debbie muttered breathlessly, her hands framing Lou’s face.

As their lips met, Lou rolled her hips upwards, and Debbie whimpered into her mouth. She kept her hips raised slightly as Lou descended, allowing the silicone to stroke through her, and then lowered her hips once more to meet Lou’s thrust. Their mouths moved across one another – lips and tongue and teeth colliding none too gracefully as they found a rhythm. Debbie sat up straight and ground her hips down onto Lou, desperate for more friction. She swept her hair out of her face and saw Lou’s eyes travel over her exposed neck, shoulders, and chest. Bending forward with her hands clutching Debbie’s lower back, Lou sucked Debbie’s left nipple into her mouth. Debbie groaned and held Lou gently to her chest with her right hand at the back of her head. Lou flicked her tongue over the nipple, and Debbie felt a wave of pleasure shoot straight to her core. Debbie could feel herself losing control as the desire for release grew in her muscles. Her thighs trembled on either side of Lou, and ripples of tension spread outwards from Lou’s mouth now clasped firmly around her right nipple.

Apparently sensing Debbie’s need, Lou raised the fingers of her right hand to Debbie’s mouth and ran one along her lower lip. “Let me help you, honey,” Lou said softly, her own voice heavy with arousal. Understanding Lou’s intention, Debbie sucked two of Lou’s fingers into her mouth, running her tongue over each of them briefly and then watching in anticipation as Lou slid the moistened fingers between their bodies. Lou’s eyes flicked up to find Debbie’s as she rubbed firm circles over her, and Debbie felt herself come apart as the combined sensations pushed her over the edge. _Bliss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to give Debbie a little break from the nightmares. <3


	6. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACT IV
> 
> “And then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.” The Tempest [III, 2]
> 
> “Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” The Tempest [IV, 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for [a lot] more soft, domestic dialogue! 
> 
> Thank you, thank you to everyone reading this!

Debbie came back to herself still cradled in Lou’s lap, muscles clenching and unclenching around the silicone buried inside her, drawing out every wave of pleasure until an edge of sated exhaustion pricked behind her eyes. She sighed and cupped Lou’s face between her hands, brushing her thumbs across her cheekbones and leaning in to kiss her. She took her time, melting under Lou’s hands, which ran lightly up and down her back.

“If that’s what happens after I explain a heist to our friends, I think I’ll be doing a lot more explaining from now on,” Lou mumbled into Debbie’s neck when they both surfaced for air a few minutes later.

“I don’t think either of us has ever needed an excuse for this.” Debbie smirked and buried her face in Lou’s still-damp hair; she felt Lou smile against her neck.

Lou rolled both of them over so Debbie was on her back, gently sliding the strap out of her. Debbie hummed in pleasure at the sensation and closed her eyes. She heard Lou slip the harness from her hips and toss everything onto the floor before lying back down with half of her body draped across Debbie.

“Are you feeling better than you were this morning?” Lou asked quietly, twisting her neck to look up at Debbie.

Debbie looked down and met her eyes. Her left hand stroked through Lou’s hair, and Lou moved her fingers gently over the black and blue marks on Debbie’s right knuckles. Today had been full of distractions, and Debbie had felt happy. Yet through it all, at the back of her mind – like a headache she couldn’t shake – was the image of Danny’s tomb awash in blood and the phantom figures lurking in the shadows. Here, lying in a post-coital stupor, it was hard to imagine the fear, hard to remember the way her heart had raced each time she’d pulled herself back to consciousness. She couldn’t _feel_ it, but the threat was there. The other dreams intruded, too – swirling in the background and tearing down the walls of cold efficiency she’d built around her mind a long, long time ago. She hated that the walls were there, hated that she knew that a job or a project would rebuild them to be as solid as ever. She knew that Lou – and _only_ Lou – could see through them. But she wanted to pull them down herself, to break out of this fortress of her own creation and fight off the newly-minted terrors lurking at the gates: empty space, Claude Becker, blood. _Oh God, so much blood._

“Debs?” Lou prompted softly, eyes full of concern at Debbie’s laconicism.

Debbie focused her eyes on Lou and let her breath out in a sigh. She hadn’t realized she had been holding it. “I…don't know,” she said, truthfully.

Lou grimaced empathetically and waited for Debbie to continue.

“I’m scared that it won’t ever stop. I’m not ready to give up yet, but I’m _tired._ ” She absentmindedly wrapped a few strands of Lou’s hair around her fingers. “I need to sleep.”

“You do,” Lou agreed.

Debbie had nothing to add. She felt stuck between admitting defeat and her own considerable pride. Her hubris – after all – had always been her fear of failure. That fear had been paralytic at times, and that had been a crucial part of the downward spiral that drove Lou away from her, that led her to Claude, and that eventually got her thrown in prison. But that fear had been about failing at _jobs_ , which of course was exactly what had happened – fear (in Debbie’s experience) was the express lane to getting caught. This time, she _knew_ she could run a job or prepare for a job or learn some other random shit that would end up being useful for a _job_.

“I think…” Debbie began but trailed off. Her brain was muddled by emotions and by lack of sleep, and she was finding it difficult to synthesize her thoughts into anything coherent.

“You think too _much_ , Debbie,” Lou said in a teasing voice. She placed a gentle kiss on each of Debbie’s bruised knuckles and pushed herself up the bed to sit against the headboard. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Debbie looked up at her from the pillows. “Probably, yeah, but I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

Lou grinned and reached into her nightstand for a stick of gum. Debbie watched as it disappeared between her lips, and Lou chewed a few times before moving her eyes to Debbie once more. She raised her eyebrows.

Debbie sighed and pulled herself up to sit next to Lou. “I think part of me doesn’t think I’ll be _me_ if I’m not constantly working on something,” she said.

Lou nodded and said nothing, indicating to Debbie that she knew more was coming.

Debbie leaned her head on Lou’s shoulder. “And part of me – the part that wants to be able to relax – thinks that I’m not…” She hesitated. Lou tucked an arm around her waist and squeezed her close. She took a deep breath and started again, “Part of me thinks that I’m…not a very good person.”

Lou hummed an acknowledgment of Debbie’s words that sounded both concerned and curious. Debbie knew she was waiting for an explanation.

“Part of me thinks that I can’t _be_ a good person without being able to relax once in a while and actually…and actually _care_ …you know, about _people_ and _things_ , without it being about a job or a potential job.” Debbie nudged her head affectionately against Lou’s jaw. “Though you’ve always been a special case, baby,” she said in a sleepy attempt at her signature sing-song voice.

Lou twisted her neck to kiss her head, and Debbie’s eyelids fluttered closed at the touch. “You’re not a bad person, Debbie,” Lou whispered into her hair.

“I never said I was a _bad_ person, I just don’t think I’m a very _good_ one,” Debbie said frankly.

Lou shook her head with a small laugh. “I’m lying in bed with the world’s greatest criminal mastermind, and she’s asking me if she’s a good person.”

“I’m not _asking_ ; I’m _telling_ you I’m _not_ ,” Debbie said indignantly. “And I’m _serious_ , Lou,” she added.

Lou sighed. “I know you are.” Her voice was soft and kind. “But so am I.”

Debbie pulled her head from Lou’s shoulder and looked at her. “ _You’re_ a good person, baby. You…you bring people together and _keep_ people together. You’re honest. You always said that lying—”

“—that lying isn’t worth shit unless it’s for a good job.” Lou finished the sentence for her with a slightly reminiscent smile. “I said that a long, long time ago, Debs. I’m surprised you remember.”

“It’s still true, though, isn’t it?” Debbie said with a smile. She ran her fingers lightly over the side of Lou’s face.

Lou shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I guess I thought that…that loving you would be enough for my brain not to lose its shit,” Debbie said. Her voice trembled slightly, and she wasn’t sure if she really believed the words, but she had to test how they felt on her tongue. As it turned out, they were bitter, and part of her wished she hadn’t said them. She dropped her eyes and watched her own fingers run back and forth along Lou’s collarbone.  

“Oh, Debbie,” Lou said, with a slightly sad smile and a slow shake of her head. “Debbie, don’t…”

“You make me…you make me _so happy_.” Debbie wished her voice would stop trembling. She cleared her throat. “So happy,” she said again, more firmly, “But I don’t—”

“Debbie, if you’re about to spew some bullshit about not deserving _me_ …” Lou trailed off and Debbie snapped her head up to meet her eyes, slightly surprised and abashed that Lou had known…But then… _She knows you better than you do_ , a voice in the back of her head chided her.

“I…” Debbie felt an instinct to defend herself but found that she had neither the energy nor the excuses to do so.   

Lou shifted so she was turned towards her and held Debbie’s face firmly between her palms. “Debbie, you and I deserve each other. That’s why I _married_ you, for God’s sake! Neither of us is perfect; we _both_ know that. I mean, we spent twenty years pretending that we weren’t completely gone on each other – both of us did! And I’m pretty sure that proves we’re both…I don’t know…sociopaths?”

Debbie smiled in spite of herself and felt her cheeks go red. “Maybe,” she said furtively.

“Definitely,” Lou said with surety, “I mean, I was kidding about the ‘sociopaths’ part—”

“I know.”

“I _love_ you.”

“I know that, too,” Debbie said. Lou _did_ love her. “I—”

“What makes you happy, Debbie?” Lou asked, interrupting her tentative, half-formed words.

Debbie snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes, trying to understand where Lou was going with this. “I…why do you ask?”

“Debbie, you need distractions…from the dreams, I mean…so, what makes you happy apart from jobs?”

“Well…” Debbie began, “well, _you_ , of course.” She ran her hands down Lou’s chest, briefly squeezing her breasts.

Lou smiled. “I know that one, honey,” she said gently, pushing a strand of hair behind Debbie’s ear.

Debbie smiled. “Wouldn’t kill me to say it more often, though,” she admitted quietly.

Lou shrugged and winked. “What else?”

“I…don’t know.”

Lou rolled her eyes. “How about I give you some ideas?”

“What…?”

“Bach?” Lou suggested. “ _Sherlock Holmes_? Opera?”

Debbie stared at her and wondered why it surprised her time and time again that Lou actually remembered what mattered to her, that Lou knew about those little pieces of her soul. Lou never forgot, and it took Debbie aback every time. She didn’t know what to say. “I…you forgot the New York Times style section,” she quipped.

Lou rolled her eyes. “Right, how could I forget?”

Debbie felt a small laugh leave the back of her throat and gave Lou a genuine smile that contained a mixture of wonder and relief.

“Well?” Lou prompted after a few seconds.

Debbie shrugged. “You’re right. I love that crap, but it’s always been a means to an end. It helps me think of things to learn in preparation for jobs, or helps me think of the jobs themselves. I mean, I only learned German because I told myself I wanted to read a very specific biography of Bach, and then the language thing sort of snowballed. I never read that biography, and in the end, it’s been useful more often than not to have a few languages at my disposal. And the operas…well, they’re all about manipulating people, aren’t they? Even the singing itself is tailored to make people _feel_ certain ways.”

“Yeah, no one’s going to argue that you _clearly_ have a dramatic edge.”

“Oh, come on, you’re the most flamboyant person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, but I _know_ that,” Lou said with a grin, “You hide everything behind ‘practicality.’”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Debbie said, cocking her head and giving Lou a mock-challenging look.

“Yes, it does.” Lou shrugged, eyes sparkling. “So, what about _Sherlock Holmes_? When was the last time you actually read that for _fun_?”

Debbie raised her eyebrows. “If by ‘fun’ you mean ‘definitely not in any way for a job’…well…” Debbie thought about it. “Probably the first time I read it.”

“When was that?”

“1968.”

“You were four?” Lou raised her eyebrows.

Debbie shrugged. “Three or four, yeah. Are you surprised?”

“No.” Lou sighed. “Figured you’d always been a self-starter.” She looked hard into Debbie’s eyes as though she were searching for something. Debbie found that she wanted more than anything to give her the thing she sought. “Have you ever thought that maybe you actually, really do just _like_ those things? That all these years you’ve been telling yourself that they’re useful for _jobs_ , but really that comes second?”

“Not really,” Debbie said truthfully. She couldn’t entirely explain why listening to Bach felt the same as the pieces of a good con falling into place, or why she always turned _specifically_ to _Sherlock Holmes_ time after time. However, there was no getting around the fact that – more often than not – one of those touchstones would be the thing to spark her next big idea. “They’re the things that keep my mind _on_ the jobs, rather than _off_ them,” she said finally.

“Hm.” Lou knit her brow. She seemed to be thinking hard.  

Debbie let her head to droop back onto Lou’s shoulder. Maybe it would be better to give up, to stop trying to relax. She _could_ learn the statues of New York City, as Lou had suggested yesterday. It would be pleasant to spend the autumn days wandering the streets, and statues did have a tendency of coming in handy. People walked by them every day and practically forgot they existed, but if something suddenly drew their attention to a statue, people found it difficult to look away. Statues were diversions hidden in plain sight. And Lou was right: Debbie didn’t know their names. She knew what they looked like, but nothing about _who_ they were, or why their stone visages had been chosen to watch over the streets of New York forever more.   

“Debs?”

“Yeah?”

“Thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“Not sure I could yet.”

Lou rested her head on top of Debbie’s and interlaced her right hand in Debbie’s left. “Debs?” She said again, more softly this time.

“Baby?”

“What was the dream last night?”

Debbie winced, but she found the question calming all the same. Something about the fact that it was Lou asking made her feel _seen_ rather than dissected.

“You don’t have to tell me, I just—” Lou began.

“No, it’s okay,” Debbie said. “I think…I think I like it when you ask.”

Lou squeezed her hand.

“I punched Danny’s tomb,” Debbie said bluntly. She flexed the fingers of her injured right hand, and it ached dully.

Lou released Debbie’s hand and reached her arm around Debbie’s body to slide her own hand, palm-up, beneath Debbie’s bruised hand and hold it gently. Debbie felt a lump rise in her throat at the gesture.

“And the tomb cracked,” she continued in a slightly higher voice than usual, running her fingers up and down Lou’s thigh. “There was blood pouring out of it, blood _everywhere_.”

Lou made a small noise of disgust.

“And there were people around me who I couldn’t really see, but I knew they were…not sorry he was dead. And _she_ was there…”

“Who?”

Debbie sighed. “The one who stabbed me.”

“Oh.” Lou’s free hand moved at once to the underside of Debbie’s left breast, settling warm and soft over the scars.

Debbie shrugged. “The people didn’t bother me nearly as much as the blood. There was just so _much_ of it.”

“It sounds terrible,” Lou murmured. She turned her head to place a kiss in Debbie’s hair.

“It _was_ terrible, and it lasted all night, or it _felt_ like it did. I kept waking up.”

“Yeah, you woke up a few times before I went to sleep, but just for a few seconds each time.

“I don’t know if I can take much more of this,” Debbie said.

“But you’re still going to keep trying?”

“For now,” Debbie said, making her decision at last. She would give it a week. If the nightmares didn’t improve by then, she would call it quits and go learn about statues.

“In that case,” Lou said, “I have an idea.”

“I’ll try _anything_. Literally. I have seriously been considering smoking the joints that Nine Ball gave me earlier.”

“Weed makes you anxious. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, so do massive amounts of blood pouring out of my brother’s tomb. I thought _maybe_ two negatives might make a positive.”

Lou hummed a laugh. Debbie pinched her thigh.

“So, what’s your idea?” Debbie asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Try reading _Sherlock Holmes_ or listening to Bach _without_ an ulterior motive.”

Debbie stayed silent, waiting for Lou to explain.

“The thing is,” Lou continued, “you know that stuff _really_ well, so maybe you should read and listen at the same time. Surround yourself with things that you like, you know?”

Debbie turned so that her lips pressed into Lou’s shoulder. “Will you be there, too, baby?”

“If you want me to be,” Lou said.

“Of course, I do. I…always.” She kissed a line down Lou’s chest and then raised her head to look at her once more. “Maybe you could read it to me?”

“ _Sherlock Holmes_?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes_. It’s always been the voice in my own head reading it,” Debbie explained. “It’d be nice to hear it in _yours_.”

“You just like my accent.”

“I _do_ like your accent, but that’s not why I’m asking you—”

“Can I do it in an _English_ accent, then?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Debbie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I give up. I want to hear it in your accent. Happy?”

“With you?” Lou placed a kiss to the corner of Debbie’s mouth. “Always.”

 

**

 

“Which Bach do you want?” Lou asked, looking up from the turntable. “And if you say the _Toccata_ , you’re out of luck, because I threw that one away.”

Debbie rolled her eyes and allowed herself a self-pitying sigh as she flopped onto the couch, only just carefully enough to avoid dislodging the ice pack from her re-bandaged hand.

“You still haven’t forgiven me for that, have you?” Lou said, looking over at her.  

“No,” Debbie said stubbornly, though she had. _Of course_ , she had. The _Toccata_ had always taken her to a dark place, and she didn’t blame Lou for knowing that. A part of her even thanked her for taking that temptation away. Debbie smiled softly to herself, forgetting Lou’s original query.

“Debs, which of these do you want?” Lou prompted.

“What? Oh…um…one of the Brandenburgs? Start with the first one?”

“Sure.” Debbie listened as Lou adjusted the needle and the volume, playing the music low enough so they could easily talk over it. The familiar notes washed over her like a warm breeze. The predictability was calming, and she closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to read?” Lou asked softly, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and lifting Debbie’s legs onto her lap.

“Would you?”  

“I said I would. Which story do you want?”

“Start at the beginning.”

Lou squeezed her knee. Debbie heard her pick up the tattered book and flip past the title pages. “‘Part One: A Study in Scarlet; Chapter One: Mr. Sherlock Holmes. In the year 1878…’”

Lou read the words carefully, as if she knew that each one mattered.

At first it felt strange to lie still and just _listen_. Debbie found her mind wandering almost immediately, wondering if Bach had planned his concertos the same way she planned jobs. The similarities were so obvious, she thought. It had to be a similar process.

“‘I had neither kith nor kin in England,’” Lou was saying, as Debbie fixed her attention once more on the words. Lou sounded more comfortable now. The rhythm of her own speech could be heard through Doyle’s old words, and Debbie marveled at how new it sounded. The gray-washed sepia streets of Victorian London seemed to take on a different hue when Lou read the words. Even as the familiar images flashed in her mind’s eye, Debbie noticed subtle changes that indicated a second hand in their creation – _Lou’s_ hand, in fact. She painted the words differently than Debbie, freshening the versions of Watson and Holmes that Debbie had cherished for decades.

More than ever, Debbie felt that she was watching the story unfold. She could actually _see_ Watson limping up to the door of 221B Baker Street, see the violin sitting on Holmes’ lap as he absentmindedly bowed his eccentric melodies. The quiet accompaniment of Bach ran through the scenes like light, adding color and depth that made everything feel _real_. Then Lou paused for a moment in the dark crime scene at Lauriston Gardens, and the images seemed to freeze and fade for a moment, as if she had pressed a pause button on an old, pixel-ridden television.

“Go on,” Debbie said quietly.

Lou sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Lou ran a hand down Debbie’s calf and cleared her throat. “‘Across this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word – RACHE.” She swallowed, and Debbie – though her eyes were still closed – could feel Lou’s gaze. Debbie gave a tiny nod, and Lou continued. The figures in Debbie’s mind unfroze. The detectives tossed their ideas over the head of John Watson, but Holmes had the final word, and Debbie smiled at the astounded looks on the men’s faces.

She knew, of course, why Lou had hesitated. A bloody revenge note next to a body wasn’t exactly dissimilar to the blood pouring from Danny’s tomb in her dream. Yet the familiar world of Holmes and Watson was somehow so predictable and unthreatening that it couldn’t be touched by her own anxieties. Besides, she knew everything would be alright, that Holmes would solve the case (and _how_ he would solve the case), because she knew these stories as if they ran in her blood. Lou kept reading, long after the concerto had ended and the vinyl spun itself into intermittent clicking. Debbie drifted through the streets of Victorian London with Lou’s voice as her guide, and while she knew every twist and turn of both the streets and the story, Lou’s voice made everything fresh and surprising and alive.

“Debbie?”

Debbie blinked, and it took her a moment to realize the images had faded. There was Lou, still sitting on the opposite end of the couch, running her long fingers up and down Debbie’s leg. The room was full of evening sunlight, turning Lou’s hair to gold, which momentarily dazzled Debbie’s eyes.

“You with me?” Lou asked, smiling.

“Y…yeah,” Debbie stammered, a little disoriented by the change of light. How long had she been lying here? It could have been days for all that her brain could remember.

“I think you _slept_ , Debbie,” Lou said, beaming at her from a haze of golden light.

“What?” Debbie’s brain couldn’t keep up. Only moments ago, she had been following Holmes and Watson in full technicolor behind her eyelids. “No, no. I was just listening,” she said, her voice stronger now, more certain.

“I stopped reading an hour ago,” Lou said, with a fond laugh in her voice, gesturing to the thick book now lying back in its place by the skull lamp on the end table.

Debbie stared at Lou, noticing that she had a magazine open in front of her, propped against Debbie’s shins. “I…slept,” she said warily, “and I can’t remember…I didn’t…I didn’t dream, Lou.”

“It was okay?” Lou asked.

“Yeah,” Debbie said, shifting to prop her back against the arm of the couch and removing the melted ice pack from her right hand. “Yeah… _fuck_ , I forgot what it felt like.” She shook her head, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile as relief and calm coursed through her. Lou put down her magazine, repositioned Debbie’s legs, and slid her hips between them to lay herself over Debbie’s chest. Debbie wrapped both arms around her shoulders, breathing against the weight of Lou pressing her into the cushions.  

“You looked so peaceful, Debs,” Lou murmured into the fabric of Debbie’s T-shirt.

Debbie tilted her head forward to bury her nose in Lou’s hair. She took a deep breath as – much to her own surprise – tears pricked behind her eyes. “I really didn’t think it would work,” she whispered. The words were slightly choked, and Lou rested her chin on Debbie’s sternum to meet her eyes – bright blue staring into watery brown.

“Debbie, you’re…you’re _crying._ Again,” Lou said bemusedly, “You’re crying again.

“I…” Debbie raised her left hand from Lou’s back and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know why.” She shrugged, sniffing and laughing in the same breath.

Lou shook her head in amazement, pushing herself up enough to gently kiss the tears from Debbie’s cheeks. Debbie tasted salt as their lips met, but the kiss was sweeter than any she could remember, which – with Lou – was saying something. She gave a shaky gasp when they broke apart, and Lou nuzzled into Debbie’s neck, lips finding sensitive skin and sending a tingling sensation to the tips of Debbie’s fingers and toes.

“ _God_ , I’ve gone soft,” Debbie muttered, pulling herself together enough to murmur the words against Lou’s temple.

“Yes, you have,” Lou agreed matter-of-factly, swirling her tongue just under Debbie’s ear. Debbie quivered at the tickling sensation and ran her fingers teasingly down Lou’s back to pinch her waist. Lou twitched, dislodging Debbie’s left leg. Her foot landed on the floor with a *clunk*, and Lou nearly fell off the couch. Indeed, she would have, if Debbie hadn’t clutched her close to her body, both of their chests now quaking with laughter. After a moment, Debbie raised a hand and wiped at her eyes where tears of laughter had joined those of her relief.

“I love you, baby,” Debbie said, breathless and blunt as she found her voice once more. Lou’s face was serious as she readjusted herself to look straight into Debbie’s eyes. She passed both her hands through Debbie’s hair, fingers meeting at the back of Debbie’s skull and rubbing soothing circles at the nape of her neck. Debbie noticed that Lou’s eyes, too, were slightly wet as her lips parted.

“Oh, honey,” Lou said finally, her breath warm across Debbie’s face, “I love you more every day.”      

 

**

 

That night, for the first time in what felt like weeks (though it _had_ only been three days), Debbie actually felt prepared to sleep when she and Lou crawled into bed. She turned onto her side to face Lou, nose to nose in the dim light. Somehow, Lou had known what she needed, had recognized the things that made Debbie happy more completely than she had herself. Debbie leaned her forehead against Lou’s, hoping to find a few words to communicate the depth of her gratitude, but nothing she could think of saying seemed good enough. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and kissed her.

Lou responded with soft pressure against Debbie’s lips, moving gently in a dance they both knew well. Debbie pressed herself closer to Lou under the sheets, her chest yearning forward and her legs tangling between Lou’s. She sucked on Lou’s lower lip, and Lou took the hint to part her lips, allowing Debbie to slip her tongue into her mouth. Lou tasted like toothpaste and cinnamon gum, with a hint of the wine they’d shared during dinner. The feel of her, the taste of her – everything was heady and _close_ , and Debbie felt warmth spreading like light from the base of her skull. She moaned into Lou’s mouth and slid her right hand over Lou’s hip, fisting the fabric of Lou’s boxers to tug her closer. The throb in Debbie’s knuckles reminded her not to grip too tight, but it didn’t matter, because Lou seemed all too willing to crowd herself against Debbie.

Lou’s left hand traced over the top of Debbie’s ribcage and around to her back, holding her tightly as she nibbled on Debbie’s top lip. Debbie gasped and opened her mouth further, no longer giving any heed to the soft noises of pleasure escaping from her throat. She uncurled her left hand from where it lay under her pillow and cupped Lou’s jaw against the pillow, fingers dancing in the hair hanging messily around her ear. She pulled Lou impossibly closer, the heel of her right hand digging into her lower back and massaging gentle circles. Lou hummed with pleasure and scratched gently down Debbie’s spine, and Debbie shivered as though the touch had been electricity.

Debbie shifted slightly against Lou, grazing Lou’s nipple with her own. The unexpected sensation was like lightning, and her gasp mirrored Lou’s as their lips broke apart for the first time in many minutes, distracted by the very idea of aroused skin against aroused skin. Their foreheads connected once more, Lou looking between their bodies and adjusting – intentionally this time – so that her breast slid over Debbie’s once more. A prickling wave of heat shot through Debbie, and she whimpered into it, breathing heavily against Lou’s cheek. Lou laughed softly and buried her face in Debbie’s neck, both arms now gathering Debbie into an embrace. Debbie felt her breath gradually returning to normal, noticing as it did that she was utterly spent. Her eyes could barely stay open, and her limbs – still wrapped around Lou – were clumsy and heavy. Lou pulled her head from where it was tucked into the crook of Debbie’s neck and helped Debbie turn over so she could pull her against her chest. Lou ran one teasing hand down Debbie’s abdomen and between her legs, cupping the damp fabric of her underwear firmly and briefly. Debbie couldn’t contain a throaty groan.   

“Something for both of us to look forward to in the morning, Jailbird,” Lou murmured.

“I doubt it’s just me,” Debbie said with a sleepy smirk that she knew Lou could hear even if she couldn’t see her face. She straightened her left leg just enough to slide it between Lou’s thighs and brush against wet heat. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Lou and smiled. “See? That’s what I thought,” she said, with a hint of contented triumph that was only partially stifled by a yawn. “You’re a good kisser, baby,” she mumbled sleepily, lips dipping slightly to move against the skin of Lou’s arm draped across her chest.  

Lou kissed the back of Debbie’s neck. “You are, too. Sleep well, honey.”

Debbie wiggled her hips, nestling herself even tighter against Lou’s body. The night was cool and dry with that hint of autumn that Debbie loved. Her eyes blinked closed, and when she opened them, the clock on her bedside table read 3 am. She was still curled into Lou, whose breathing was slow and deep, echoing the waves on the bay below. Debbie smiled to herself, amazed at how five hours of undisturbed sleep could feel as good as stealing several million dollars. Determined to give her body as much as she could, she twisted in Lou’s embrace and tucked her head beneath Lou’s chin. Lou’s arms wrapped around her once more, though Lou didn’t wake, and Debbie matched her breathing to her wife’s as sleep enveloped her once more.

 

**

 

She was standing on the main floor of the loft, and beams of golden sunlight streamed in around her. _This is a dream_ , Debbie thought, panic rising for a moment in her chest, _Wake up! Wake up!_ But the light didn’t fade, and so she turned slowly on the spot, taking in her surroundings. She was alert for even the smallest sign of malevolence, but none appeared. _Is this a_ good _dream?_ she wondered. _That’s new_. She walked slowly to the stage, noticing the click-clack sounds of the heels she must be wearing. Sitting on the edge, she surveyed the room once more, noticing how the light streaming into the room seemed to contain whole worlds in each ray.

“That can’t be right,” she whispered to herself, but she looked closer, and sure enough: the beam of light closest to her – cutting its way across the stage – was full of little houses built into the side of a mountain. The walls of an ancient fortress towered on a high hill, flags whipping in an unfelt breeze. The colors of the scene had all been washed to gold and yellow, monochromatic and yet so bright as to dazzle her eyes. _What is this place?_ she thought.

“Whatever it is, I’m the one who came up with it,” she muttered to the questions in her head. “This is _my_ dream.” She surveyed the other beams of light around her, taking in palaces and towers and streets – all miniaturized and golden. Were these self-contained realities a new phenomenon, or had they always been here, waiting for the right angle of light to illuminate them?

Debbie was suddenly aware that she wasn’t alone, but it was only Lou, striding over to her on those impossibly long legs. She was clad in her riding leathers, and as she flung on arm around her, Debbie inhaled the heady scents of wind and asphalt. Lou kissed her hard and brief, hands tangled in her hair. Debbie clutched the front of her jacket, noticing as she did so that her right hand didn’t twinge and carried no sign of bruises or cuts. Lou shed her riding gear as she walked back towards the kitchen, pausing every so often to brush a fingertip over the roof of a tiny house encased in light, or over the rampart edge of a golden castle. She didn’t seem surprised at all by the appearance of the many little scenes around them; on the contrary, she reminded Debbie of a benevolent queen surveying her many kingdoms. Debbie smiled and twisted a few strands of her own hair around her fingers, pleased at how the dark brown shone auburn in the light. If heaven were like this, Debbie thought, she might actually want it after all.

Other people came and went – Tammy, Constance, Rose – laughing and talking. They – like everything here – seemed to glow, and Debbie felt a wave of affection flow through her: _friends_. She had _friends_. Lou returned and sat close to her on the edge of the stage. Their shoulders brushed, and every so often they looked at each other. Each time Lou’s blue eyes found hers, she knew that nothing – not even magical, mysterious cities made of light – could compare to the brilliance of those eyes. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to be said. Everything was warmth and peace and understanding. Every minute that passed seemed to strengthen the integrity of the “dream,” until she was no longer convinced that it was a dream at all. This was a whole and solid reality.  

A creaking sound above her turned Debbie’s attention skyward. For the first time, she noticed a complex network of pullies, ropes, and gears along the edge of the familiar ceiling. With a rumbling sound that shook the entire loft, the gears began to turn. Slowly, great panels of the roof opened to show swatches of pure blue sky. Excitement grew in Debbie’s chest as each panel opened, and she was sure that the opening of the roof would allow for an even greater surplus of light into the room – more kingdoms to discover. The last panel opened, and Debbie held her breath, squeezing Lou’s hand. For a moment that could have lasted an eon, everything was quiet: blue sky above, golden light below. And then…

Water.

Steel grey, shining, salty water poured in through the now-open roof, and the palaces tumbled. Towers fell and houses foundered in the crashing waves. Debbie sprang to her feet on the stage, cowering next to one of the square pillars supporting the upper floor of the loft. The floor shuddered beneath her feet and great chunks of wood broke off under the pressure of the waves. She was floating on an island that was gradually rising higher and higher. The golden light was gone replaced by gloom and shadows, yet above, the blue sky still shone. The figures of her friends had long since disappeared, and Debbie couldn’t remember if they’d left before the roof opened. She prayed they had. But Lou had been beside her, holding her hand, and now…Panic rose in Debbie’s chest as she cast her gaze over the tossing, violent sea. And then… _Lou._ Debbie saw her fighting against the swirling water, moving gradually towards her. She held out a hand and reached as far as she could, kneeling on the edge of the tiny patch of inexplicable safety.

“Grab my hand! Take it! I’ve got you! I can save you!” She heard the weak strain of her voice over the roar of the water.

Lou fixed her eyes on Debbie and ducked her head under the water. Debbie’s heart beat faster, but she knew Lou was only trying to avoid the violence of the surface. She was a good swimmer, Debbie reminded herself. She knew what to do. Three seconds later, Lou’s face appeared mere feet from Debbie, and she clasped Debbie’s hand. Her fingers dug into the soft skin of Debbie’s forearm. It hurt, but Debbie welcomed the pain – proof that Lou was strong and alive. She pulled until she felt that her muscles must surely tear from the exertion, and then Lou lay sprawled and gasping for breath upon the wooden boards next to Debbie.

“Lou, _Lou_ ,” Debbie repeated her name over and over, tugging her into a sitting position and helping her out of the sopping garments sticking to her skin. Lou was shivering; the air was chilly now, and the water was even colder. Her skin was rough with goosebumps, and she leaned into Debbie’s warmth, trembling. Debbie felt as though the adrenaline coursing in her blood would never fade. _What now? What happens next?_

Debbie held Lou close and placed kisses across her face, tasting the briny tang of salt water on her lips and tongue. As her lips closed over Lou’s, an echoing crack resounded through the loft, now at least half-full of water. The boards beneath Lou were breaking. Debbie’s heart raced once more, and she wrapped both arms around Lou’s chest, and yet she knew with a sinking sensation that left her empty, that she couldn’t hold on forever. She looked up at the blue sky and back down into Lou’s blue eyes, which showed both terror and resignation. She could feel her slipping through her hands, but she didn’t let go. Debbie would rather _die_ than let go, but something told her she couldn’t. She didn’t have that choice. Everything was conspiring to keep her alive and to take Lou away. She pressed her lips to Lou’s once more and closed her eyes. It was all she could do…

 

**

 

Debbie awoke tangled in bedsheets. Outside the window, she saw rain pouring down in grey streaks towards the steel grey ocean below, and panic surged in her chest. She thrashed against the fabric constricting her legs. But no, _no_. She was safe; this was _home_. It looked normal – no bright lights filled with fantasy lands to lull her into a false sense of security. And Lou was here, wasn’t she? Lou was _safe_. Debbie flung an arm towards Lou’s side of the bed, desperate to touch her, to be _sure_. Her arm fell onto the mattress, and her heart threatened to jump out of her chest.

“Lou,” she muttered in a cracked whisper. Then, in a loud voice that was almost a scream: “ _Lou_.”

“Debbie?”

Debbie looked up from where she was crouched on the bed. Lou stood in the doorway to the bathroom, hair damp and water clinging to her skin. If it had been a dream, why was Lou still soaking wet? Debbie sat frozen, staring a Lou and unable to hold anything in her mind except blank incomprehension.  

“You okay, Debs?” Lou asked, taking a few steps towards the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I…” She trailed off, eyes full of concern at the expression on Debbie’s face.

Debbie reached out a slightly trembling hand towards her and felt warm fingers find hers. Lou wasn’t clammy or cold. Her skin was wet from the shower – _of course_ , it was. “You’re okay,” Debbie muttered, pulling Lou clumsily onto the bed. “You’re okay.”

“Uh…yeah, I’m fine,” Lou said. She sounded confused, and Debbie dimly realized how bizarre this must be for her.

“Bad dream,” Debbie mumbled into Lou’s neck.

Lou’s arms wrapped protectively around her at the words. “Worse?”

“Much, _much_ worse. You…I couldn’t save you. There was water, and…and I couldn’t…” Her voice broke, and Debbie felt a sob scrape its way out of her lungs. Her tears mingled with the water on Lou’s skin. The back of her throat burned and ached, and her whole body shuddered. She couldn’t do this anymore, not after that. She had optimistically thought that after yesterday’s nap under the calming spell of Lou’s voice, and after a few uninterrupted hours at the start of last night, that she was in the clear, that she’d conquered this problem. She had hoped that it meant she could just let go, just _be_. But now she could still feel Lou’s clammy form sliding through her hands, still see the fear in the blue eyes she loved.

“I’m sorry, Debbie,” Lou murmured into her hair. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Debbie pulled herself away from Lou’s chest as the quaking sobs subsided. Her eyes darted over Lou’s face, and she reassured herself with the life she found there. She took deep breaths and felt her pulse beat more steadily.

“I’m right here, honey,” Lou whispered, fingers tracing the contours of Debbie’s face.

“I know, baby, I know,” Debbie said, reaching up to clutch Lou’s hands and not caring that it ached to grip so tightly with her right hand. She looked hard into Lou’s eyes. “I’m done…I…give up. I’ll learn the statues; I’ll learn _anything_. It’s not worth it anymore.” She shook her head, emphasizing her resignation. “I can’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the residual images from the nightmare. “I can’t watch you die again.”

Lou smiled a pained smile and gathered Debbie once more into her arms. “Yeah,” she muttered, almost inaudibly. “I…I know.”


	7. Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACT V
> 
> “Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die- to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life.” Hamlet [III, 1]
> 
> “I dreamt my lady came and found me dead—Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!” Romeo and Juliet [V, 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the chapter that I'm most proud of. I hope you enjoy it!

Debbie traced her finger over the face of Lou’s watch, around and around, trying to follow the second hand by exactly one second, then two seconds, then three seconds. They were sitting next to each other at the counter with steaming mugs of tea in front of each of them. The weather was patchy, alternating between bright sunlight and grey rain with a strong breeze as the only constant.

“It actually feels like it might be autumn soon, doesn’t it?” Lou said, with a nod towards the trees bending in the wind.

Debbie nodded without looking up from the Rolex.

“You’re disappointed,” Lou stated firmly after another few minutes of watching Debbie count seconds.

Debbie sighed and grimaced, still not looking up. “Yes,” she agreed, “I am. Didn’t think I would be, but…” She shrugged. “I am.”

“Look, Debs,” Lou said, closing her right hand over Debbie’s to stop the swirling of her finger. Debbie looked up at her, slightly annoyed. She didn’t feel like talking. “Debbie, I _know_ how it feels to watch someone…” Lou shook her head, as if trying to ward off an unpleasant memory. Debbie waited for her to continue. “This isn’t about me, honey, I know that,” Lou said at last, now running her own fingers over Debbie’s right hand, adjusting the edge of the gauze bandage. “But if it helps for me to—”

“Yes,” Debbie said, interrupting her. The sound of Lou’s voice was soothing, and anything that might make her feel less alone was welcome.

Lou sighed and took a sip of tea before she began. “I told you that, while you were in prison, the dreams I had of you were happy, and the real nightmare was waking up knowing that you were still inside.”

“Yeah,” Debbie said. “I remember.”

“Well, once you were out, I thought I could stop worrying about the dreams, because I had you back…well, I didn’t _have_ you…we…” Lou trailed off.

“We were still being idiots around each other?” Debbie supplied, resting her chin on the fist of her left hand and tilting her head to look up at Lou.

Lou huffed a laugh. “Yeah, we really were.” Her eyes twinkled at Debbie for a moment.  

Debbie dropped her gaze to her tea with a reminiscent smile.

“Anyway, I was in California, after the Met, somewhere north of San Francisco. I don’t really remember where, and it doesn’t matter. The point is, there was a woman in a bar who was being hit on by some assholes, and I pretended she and I were together to get her out of there.”

Despite her melancholic mood, Debbie grinned as she pictured the scene, could almost see the way the men had glared at Lou as she left the bar with her arm snug around the shoulders of the girl. They’d both done it countless times, and Debbie knew how it felt. “Ever the knight in shining armor, huh?” she said, eying Lou mischievously over the rim of her mug.

Lou smirked. “Yeah, well, you know I can’t help it.”

“I know.”

Lou sipped her tea and continued, “She asked, of course – the woman. I said no, obviously. Not _just_ because of you – we hadn’t…” she trailed off and looked somewhat apologetically at Debbie.

“We hadn’t said what _we_ were?” Debbie finished the sentence with raised eyebrows.

“Exactly, yeah,” Lou said, “But by that point, I knew I loved you. I mean, I’d known for years, but I didn’t want…anyway, that wasn’t the only factor. She also looked to be a fair bit less than half my age.”

“Not one to rob the cradle?”

“Not like I never slept with women a whole lot younger than me, but she was _really_ young.” Lou shook her head. “It ended up being fine. I gave her a ride home on my bike, and she thanked me, and then I went back to the crummy hotel.”

“Heartbreaker,” Debbie teased.

“Shut up.”

“She probably still touches herself to a mental image of you, maybe keeps an eye out for blonde women in leather—”

“ _Debbie_.” Lou rolled her eyes.

“You know it’s true.” The banter was cheering Debbie up immensely, though she _did_ want to hear the rest of the story.

Lou scoffed and looked away for a moment, shaking her head. After a moment, she looked serious again. “I thought a lot about what happened that night, thought about _why_ I said no – because I knew that if she had been my age, I _still_ would’ve said no. And I realized I wanted you and I to…really _be_ something. It was the first time I voiced that to myself. And then…” Lou heaved a sigh that seemed to deflate her entire body. “I had a nightmare. I don’t really remember it, but I remember you were dying or dead – I’m not sure which.” Lou ran her fingers through her hair. Her eyes had taken on a distant, glassy look.

Debbie’s hand closed tightly over her forearm just above the Rolex. “Hey, I’m right here,” she said, repeating Lou’s words from earlier back to her.

Lou cleared her throat and seemed to pull herself back to the present. “Anyway,” she continued, “I remember that your skin was cold, your eyes…well, I don’t think I can describe it. Two days later, I started heading back here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Debbie asked quietly, now running her fingers up and down Lou’s arm.

Somewhat to Debbie’s surprise, Lou smiled at the question. “The dream was just a wake-up call for a whole host of things I was already feeling. The feelings – well, they were more important. I was so incredibly disappointed in myself for _not_ having told you I loved you already. I knew I _had_ to tell you…” She trailed off, but Debbie didn’t need to hear the rest. She had been there for that part; she would never forget it.

The twitchy panic that had lived in Debbie’s chest since she woke up from the dream was gone now. Lou had proved that she understood, and that _meant_ something. Debbie squeezed Lou’s arm and then released it to pick up her cup of tea. She took a few slow sips, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions now battling in her brain. She couldn’t – wouldn't – open herself up to that kind of nightmare again, at least not anytime soon. Her obsessive projects and plans had kept them at bay for her entire life; she knew how to keep her brain busy, and she could return to it in a heartbeat. But Debbie hated failure, and that’s what this felt like. She gripped the handle of the mug until the knuckles of her left hand were white, and tapped the fingers of her right on the counter top.

“You think you failed,” Lou said softly, offering her hand palm-up next to Debbie’s anxious fingers.

“My brain just isn’t made to relax,” Debbie said, shaking her head. “I can’t…I can’t _be_ that person.”

“What person?”

Debbie shrugged. “The type of person who can just…appreciate little things once in a while, you know? It’s…just not something you can teach yourself, I guess.”

“Maybe.” Lou slid her palm under Debbie’s hand.

Debbie didn’t cease the rhythm of her fingers, but it felt nice to bounce her fingertips off of Lou’s skin. “There was a part of me that really thought I _could_ live a simple, normal life if I tried. I mean, I have _you_ , I have friends, I have more money than I know what to do with. It should have been _easy_. But when it comes down to it, I don’t feel like myself unless I’m planning or running a job, or I’m with you.” She managed a self-deprecating smirk. “Both at once is preferable.”

“Me and a con?” Lou said with a wink.

“Every step of the way, baby.” Debbie settled her head on Lou’s shoulder.

Lou rested her own head on top of Debbie’s. “You’re a good person, Debbie.”

Debbie scoffed.

“You’re good to _me_ ,” Lou reasoned.

“Yeah, well, it’s _you_.”

“And that _matters_ , Debs. It does.”

Debbie paused and considered that. “Never thought I’d be much good at that either, to be honest,” she admitted. “That’s why I bet Danny that I’d never get married.”

“Gambling was never your game, honey,” Lou murmured. “You deal in absolutes.” She placed a kiss to Debbie’s head and began unwinding the bandage from Debbie’s hand to check the status of her injury, and Debbie stopped the incessant tapping of her fingers. “But it’s not that it matters to _me_ ,” Lou said after a moment, continuing her thought from before, “though it _does_ ,” she added, “it’s that other people see it – our friends see it, Danny saw it.”

“What do they see, Lou?” Debbie asked, turning her head to murmur the words into the fabric of Lou’s plaid robe.

Debbie felt Lou’s jaw shift slightly as she smiled. “I don’t know what Danny saw because that was after I left, and I know you said he didn’t get it at first, but he figured it out somehow – probably the way you…you talked about me. And our friends, well, they see that you trust me. They see the way we look at each other,” Lou said. Debbie blushed and was glad her face was hidden in Lou’s shoulder. “They see you defer to me about certain things. They see the way we _work_ , Jailbird. They know you’re not as cold as you’d like them to think.”

“Hey,” Debbie said in mock consternation, pulling her head from the crook of Lou’s neck to look at her once more, “I have an image to maintain.”

“And you do it brilliantly,” Lou said, “ _believe_ me.”

“I always believe you,” Debbie replied. Lou smiled, and Debbie reached out her free left hand to twist a few strands of her hair into place as Lou pulled the last of the gauze from around Debbie’s wrist.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Lou said.

Debbie shrugged. It still looked pretty bad to her inexpert eye. There was hardly any skin covering the four knuckles of her fingers. The middle knuckle was red and swollen, though the deeper cut across it – from where she’d nicked the edge of Danny’s engraved name – was healing well. The bruising traveled only a little way up each of her fingers, but the back of her hand was still mottled various shades of blue, purple, and green.

“Seriously,” Lou said, “I’ve seen much worse. I’ve _done_ much worse. How does it feel?”

Debbie winced. “Not great.”

“Well, it’s only been two days,” Lou said, “I’m not surprised.”

“Feels like forever,” Debbie said, reaching for the bottle of Ibuprofen on the other end of the counter and shaking three tablets into her hand.

After washing the injury and allowing Lou to rebandage it once again, Debbie kissed Lou on the cheek and went to dig a large pile of New York City street maps from a cupboard under the stage. Each map was covered in markings and notes – the results of Debbie’s study of New York the previous year. The stage provided an excellent surface for surveying the maps, given their size. With a sigh, Debbie pulled the top map towards her and scanned it. Despite her lingering disappointment, she felt her body relax. It was – she imagined – not dissimilar from an addict getting a long-awaited fix: shame and relief in equal measure. The anxious tension in her fingers faded away, and she stopped drumming them against everything she touched. Her body stilled; unnecessary movement was nothing other than distraction. On these maps, statues were marked by little x’s next to a two- or three-word label, often full of abbreviations. In a few places, Debbie herself had scrawled an additional description or pneumonic regarding the statue if it had come in handy for learning the streets around it.

“Statues?” Lou called from the kitchen over the sound of the sink.

“Statues,” Debbie confirmed. She heard Lou place their now-clean mugs in the drying rack and walk over to her. Warm arms wrapped around her waist, and Debbie felt Lou’s hips fit behind hers as her chin came to rest on Debbie’s shoulder. Debbie closed her eyes and melted into Lou.  

“I love you,” Lou said quietly, “and I don’t care if you’re learning about statues or planning a job or…anything. I love you _because_ of those things, and in spite of them, too.”

There was a tightness around Debbie’s heart that made her feel as though Lou really was holding it in her hands. “Thank you,” Debbie managed to say. She was finding it difficult to speak around yet another lump in her throat.

“I know it’s hard for you to see yourself as being more than just good _at_ things,” Lou murmured, her voice low and comforting in Debbie’s ear, “but you are _so_ much more than that. You are.”

Debbie nodded, still unconvinced. She knew that she was more than that to _Lou_ , because for some inexplicable reason, she could _show_ her. The fact was, it was tiresome to be thought of – by the vast majority of people – as an intimidating and cold mind carried in a vehicle made of stilettos and silk and dark hair. She was the brains – always the brains, the mastermind, the tireless leader – because she was _good_ at it. It was depressingly comfortable to stand here and stare at maps and know that she had the entire City of New York in her grasp without even having to really _try_. Debbie Ocean – the criminal, the con-artist – was a proud woman, but Debbie herself…well, she’d never felt this insecure in her life. _You love Lou, and you’re good at stealing shit. That’s it. That’s who you are, so suck it up, Ocean, you’re never going to change._

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” Lou said, still wrapped around Debbie, though Debbie felt like she was miles away.

Debbie smiled and scoffed at the sentimental words. “You’re such a romantic.”

“One of us has to be.”

“True, but with you, baby, I can be _anything,_ ” Debbie said in a breathless, half-teasing voice, suddenly very aware that she could actually feel the beating of Lou’s heart against her back as she leaned into her. Debbie turned her head just enough to find Lou’s mouth with hers, kissing her slowly and feeling Lou’s entire body respond in earnest against her back, crowding her into the edge of the stage, which Debbie was gripping tightly. Minutes later, Debbie turned back to her maps, leaving Lou panting against her back. Debbie smiled smugly and shivered as Lou attacked her neck instead. Her teeth nibbled at a patch of skin just below Debbie’s left ear before her tongue swirled over the spot that was sure to be reddish purple in a few hours.

“Okay, you’re right, Debs. You convinced me,” Lou said, giving Debbie a squeeze, “You can be romantic too.” She walked away, trailing her fingers across Debbie’s back as she did so.

“I’m going to work on this for a bit,” Debbie said, eyes now focusing once more on the maps before her.

“I’ll be here,” Lou said. Debbie heard her walking towards the stairs and starting to climb them.

Debbie waited until she was almost at the top before she spoke again. “Will you come to see Danny with me later? I need to apologize for…you know…”

Lou’s footsteps stopped, and Debbie didn’t need to look up to know that she was frozen at the top of the stairs, one foot on the final step. “Yeah, Debs, of course.”

“I’ll probably go around two; just need to get my head back in the game for a little while. We can pick up lunch at the deli on the way?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Whatever questions Lou had, it appeared she had decided to wait to ask them. Debbie heard her walking along the balcony towards the room she used as a home office in the opposite corner from their bedroom.

Debbie waited until she knew Lou was just about to shut the door behind her. “I love you,” she called firmly and loudly enough so she knew Lou would hear her.

There was a hint of laughter in Lou’s voice when she replied, slightly more quietly than Debbie. “I love you, too, you sap.”

 

**

 

A few hours later, Debbie strode arm-in-arm with Lou through the gate of the cemetery. She wasn’t used to seeing it open. She usually came here after hours – early mornings and late nights promised privacy, and she preferred to have the option of talking candidly to whatever was left of her brother. Not that she often did; Saturday morning had been a bit of an exception. All the same, if she found herself needing to bounce ideas about a job off the cold marble of Danny’s name, she would rather do so without being overheard. She felt Lou hesitate slightly at the threshold of the mausoleum, ever aware that this was often a place where Debbie needed space, but Debbie tightened her hold on Lou’s arm and gave her a sidelong look with cocked eyebrow that she hoped would communicate her need for Lou to stay close. Lou’s pace quickened slightly to match Debbie’s once more, and Debbie knew she understood.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Danny’s name in silence for a while. Lou dug in the paper bag she was holding and pulled out the bagels and lox they’d purchased down the road. Debbie pulled her customary martini shaker and two glasses from her purse. Pausing only once to listen carefully to the stones in order to ascertain that they were alone in the mausoleum, Debbie quickly shook and poured the drinks, dropping an olive into each glass. Lou wrinkled her nose at the proffered martini but took it all the same. It wasn’t really a drink that either of them preferred, but it was Danny’s drink, and that was what mattered. Debbie clinked her glass against Lou’s and raised it a fraction of an inch towards Danny’s name. She wasn’t ready for words just yet, but it was enough.

Lou handed her a bagel, and Debbie ate it slowly, chewing the things she needed to say along with the food. When she finished, she carefully folded the paper wrappings and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Every action was methodical and slow, and Debbie felt the persona she had cultivated for decades seeping back into her veins like a drug. Lou had finished eating first and was now jiggling her knee up and down next to Debbie. She had never been particularly good at sitting still. She could sprawl for hours and barely move, but sitting on a stone bench with a straight back and both feet on the floor wasn’t how she did things. Lou’s fidgeting was a quirk that fascinated Debbie, so quintessentially _Lou_ that it made Debbie smile to watch her knee move rapidly up and down. She held out her hand to allow Lou to fidget with her fingers instead, and Lou’s leg slowed to a stop. Debbie took a slow sip of her martini and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry I punched you, Danny,” she began, holding up her bandaged hand entwined in Lou’s. “If it helps, it still hurts like hell.” She managed a small laugh. Lou fished a piece of gum out of her pocket as Debbie continued, “My little experiment – trying to relax – it didn’t work. You probably could’ve told me that before, but I had to find out for myself.” Debbie sighed and squeezed Lou’s hand. “These Ocean brains…they’re not the best for everything, and I’m still angry, even if I _do_ regret punching you. It turns out that I underestimated being normal. It’s harder than it looks.” Lou scoffed next to her, and Debbie spared her a slightly amused glance before turning back to Danny’s grave. “Anyway, I really just came here to apologize, and I’ve done that. I brought Lou because I knew I wouldn’t do it otherwise. Also, I didn’t want to walk away with another mangled hand, and she’s stronger than me, so you should be glad you never got on her bad side.”

Lou snapped her gum and shook her head, but Debbie saw she was smiling. “Why did you _really_ bring me here?” Lou asked, nudging Debbie’s shoulder with her own.

Debbie searched the curious expression on Lou’s face. She tilted her head slightly and paused for a moment watching Lou’s brow knit for a second as she considered Debbie. “I really did think I might punch him again,” Debbie said finally, “ _really_.”

Lou shook her head and looked away from Debbie in mock-irritation. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.  

Debbie shrugged and sipped her martini. Lou didn’t say anything, and Debbie looked back at the marble wall. After a moment, she could feel Lou’s gaze piercing her skull, and she swiveled her head to the right once more. “Baby?” she said.

“Debs…” Lou said warily, clearly nonplussed. It was rare that they needed more than a look or a gentle touch to communicate what they wanted, but Debbie had to admit that this _was_ a rare case. She had never asked for anything like this before.  

“You want to…?” Debbie gestured Danny’s name.

Lou’s eyebrows rose up into her bangs as her eyes widened. “You want _me_ to talk to him?”

“Yes,” Debbie replied firmly.

“What do you want me to say?” Lou said, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as if she wasn’t entirely sure if Debbie was being serious.

“Just…” Debbie hesitated and swallowed hard, unsure of how to voice her request even though the words had felt heavy on her tongue since the morning. “Tell him I’m okay,” Debbie said finally. Her voice was unexpectedly quiet.

Lou took a deep breath and chewed her gum very rapidly for a few seconds before opening her mouth to speak. “I’m taking care of her, Danny,” she said in an even voice, though Debbie sensed a deep sincerity behind the words. “You asked me to keep her from going back to prison—”

“What?” Debbie exclaimed, surprised. She couldn’t help herself.

“Yeah,” Lou said, “He did. Anyway,” she went on, “she kept _herself_ out. She’s…well, we’re _happy_ , you should know that. I’m okay; Debbie’s okay…” she trailed off, and Debbie set her martini on the bench beside her and slid both arms around Lou’s waist to hug her gratefully.

“Thanks,” she murmured into Lou’s shoulder.

“I’m not finished,” Lou said.

Debbie pulled back and watched her. Lou was still looking at Danny’s name on the wall, and she seemed to be steeling herself to say something. Debbie waited and bit her lip, fascinated and slightly amused by the look on Lou’s face, which flickered between mischief and hard determination.

“Your sister has gotten it into her head that she’s not a good person, that she can’t _be_ a good person and be herself at the same time,” Lou began seriously. Debbie wasn’t sure where Lou was going with this, but she found that her pulse had quickened nervously. “Debbie thinks that she doesn’t appreciate things…properly,” Lou went on. She glanced at Debbie, and Debbie shrugged a begrudging affirmation. “I think she does,” Lou said bluntly, “I think she does it as well as anyone.”

Debbie scoffed. “Really?”

“Really,” Lou said, turning to look at Debbie instead of at Danny’s tomb. “The books you like, the music you like – it matters. You like tea, you like stealing Rolexes because you know _I_ like them, and you like the Wonder Wheel.” Lou turned back to Danny’s name for a second. “Did _you_ know that?” she asked the stones. “Debbie _loves_ the goddamn Wonder Wheel.”

“It’s true,” Debbie muttered to her own hands clasped in her lap. “I do.” Lou smiled proudly at her and reached out a hand to tilt Debbie’s chin upwards until they were looking at each other once more. Debbie locked her eyes onto Lou’s, suddenly very aware of the brilliance of what Lou was doing, even as the heat burned in her cheeks. They both knew that Debbie would never stand for these types of compliments just between the two of them, but Danny’s presence meant that she couldn’t run away, that she had to listen.

“You really are okay, honey,” Lou said softly, speaking directly to Debbie once more, “and you _know_ he would agree.”

Debbie stared back at her, her mind whirring. She was finding it much more difficult to deny the things Lou said now that Danny had heard them too. “Okay,” she said finally, holding up her hands in a sign of surrender. “Well played. You got me.”

Lou grinned. “I hope so.” She leaned forward and kissed Debbie’s forehead.

Debbie sighed and relaxed into the pressure of Lou’s mouth on her skin. “Did you just con me into letting you say nice things about me?” she asked teasingly, though she couldn’t prevent a certain warmth from creeping into her tone.

Lou smirked against Debbie’s forehead. “Couldn’t have done it without Danny,” she said, cocking her head slightly towards his grave.

Debbie sat up straight again and turned back to Danny’s name. She kept her right arm tight around Lou’s waist, stroking her side gently with her thumb over the soft jersey fabric of the slightly-too-low-cut band T-shirt she was wearing. The cloth rumpled under her fingertips, and she felt Lou twitch almost imperceptibly as she brushed the sensitive skin just under her breast. Lou snaked her own arm over Debbie’s shoulders and played with the ends of her hair. Debbie watched the reflected shadows of trees play across the marble in front of them. Outside, the sun had peeked out once more from between the racing clouds.

It was easier to think now that she had a project again. The statues of New York would keep her occupied at least until the end of the autumn, and by that time, it would be too cold to spend much time studying them anyway. Winter was always a good to time to start planning a job, and if all went well, learning the statues would open her mind up to an idea by the end of November. Debbie sighed and tried to feel content with the knowledge that she knew what to expect from herself. Predictability – after all – was practically food for her. The disappointment lingered, but it was more like the dull ache of a sore muscle, rather than the sharp regretful twinge of defeat. Lou’s words had helped, and sitting here with Danny had helped, despite his listening ears being only figments of her imagination. Debbie finished her martini in silence, though her soft caress of Lou’s side and the gentle tugging of Lou’s fingers in her hair felt like words of comfort whispered back and forth.

“Let’s go home,” Debbie said at last, knowing Lou was waiting for her to break the spell.

“Thanks for asking me to come,” Lou said as they gathered up their things. She tipped the remainder of her martini into her mouth and winced at the flavor as she swallowed. “Ugh. I don’t know why anyone would spoil good vodka like that,” she remarked, handing the empty glass back to Debbie.”

“You know, Danny also liked a vodka soda, so we _could’ve_ had those instead,” Debbie mentioned casually as they left the mausoleum hand-in-hand.

Lou came to a halt and stared at her. “You’re telling me this _now_?” she said indignantly. “Seriously? After I drank that crap out of a sense of familial _obligation_?”

Debbie merely smirked and tugged Lou towards the gate.

“I swear to God, _Deborah_ ,” Lou went on. Debbie wondered what percentage of her indignation was genuine. “You are the most irritating…” She searched for a word with no success. “You _know_ I hate martinis.”

Debbie widened her eyes and batted her eyelashes at Lou with a look of apologetic innocence. “Sorry, baby, I forgot,” she said in her sing-song voice.  

Lou scoffed. “Yeah, right.” She shook her head.

Debbie leaned close to Lou’s ear. “I’ll make it up to you.” She placed a brief wet kiss on Lou’s jaw, leaving an imprint of her lipstick behind.     

“Is that a promise?” Lou asked, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Of course.”

 

**

 

Lou went straight to the refrigerator when they returned to the loft and pulled out two beers. She opened both and handed one to Debbie. Tilting her head back and taking a long draught, she made a show of trying to wash the flavor of the martini out of her mouth. Debbie smiled against the rim of her bottle and rolled her eyes.

Lou winked when she finally set down her bottle and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “’s better,” she said through a sigh.

“You’re so dramatic.” Debbie took a dignified sip of her beer.

“Says the woman who’s wearing five-inch stilettos inside her own house,” Lou replied with a pointed glance at Debbie’s feet.

Debbie hummed into her drink and then took a few steps closer to Lou, reaching out to curl a finger around one of Lou’s necklaces. “If I didn’t keep them on, I couldn’t do this,” she said, a note of suggestion in her voice.

“Do what?” Lou asked, almost challenging, head tilted upwards to keep her eyes fixed on Debbie’s face. The heels gave Debbie enough height to stand slightly taller than Lou, which was no easy feat.

“This,” Debbie said. She pressed Lou into the edge of the counter top and looked down her nose at her, head cocked and eyebrows raised.  

Lou stared up at her through her bangs with slightly hooded eyes. Her tongue darted out to trace a slow and intentional line over her upper lip, and Debbie felt the movement run through her as though Lou’s tongue was already buried between her legs. She lifted her bottle of beer to her lips and took a long sip, feeling Lou’s eyes on the curve of her throat as she swallowed. Lowering the beer at last, she let her tongue circle around the rim of the bottle. Lou sucked her lower lip into her mouth and passed it back out between her teeth. When she released it, there was a darker pink tinge to her mouth, which was difficult for Debbie to ignore. Her gaze lingered on Lou’s mouth, allowing Lou to see the desire in her eyes.

If their positions had been reversed (as they so often were), Debbie knew she already would have been whining in desperation for Lou to touch her, but Lou had always been a bit demurer under Debbie’s hands. She knew the game that Debbie wanted to play in these rare moments when she took control and turned the tables. With a surprisingly steady hand, Lou placed her own bottle of beer on the counter next to her, far enough away that it wouldn’t spill even if they never made it away from the counter. She passed her palms over one another once to wipe off some of the condensation from the warming bottle and then placed her hands loosely on the edge of the countertop. A slight twitch in her fingers was all that betrayed her desire to touch Debbie, and Debbie relished the miniscule movement, aware that Lou was wound much tighter than she was letting on.

Without a word, Debbie brought her own bottle of beer to Lou’s lips, and Lou quirked one eyebrow at her. She held Debbie’s gaze as she ran her tongue up the side of the bottle and then closed her lips over the top of it, sucking hard and hollowing her cheeks. Debbie felt her own lips part slightly; she hadn’t expected that, but the unpredictability was what she _truly_ loved about Lou. It amazed her that, even in these moments of heat, there was still an understanding of the tender give and take between them. There was a slight ringing in her ears as she watched Lou’s lips working around the neck of the bottle, and Debbie lost her focus for a moment, her hips grinding once against Lou’s before she pulled herself together once more. Lou released the bottle from between her lips and threw her head back to laugh proudly and briefly at Debbie’s momentary lapse in concentration.

The laugh turned to a moan as Debbie dipped her mouth to the now-exposed curve of Lou’s throat, trailing her tongue from Lou’s collarbone to the spot just below her ear. She caught a patch of skin between her teeth and sucked hard, endeavoring to give Lou a matching mark to the one she bore under her own ear from earlier. She felt Lou’s shoulders shift and knew she was about to lift her hands to bury them roughly in her hair or run them up under her skirt. Either one was tempting, and _God,_ she wanted to feel Lou’s hands on her. But Debbie wasn’t done with her game yet, and if Lou touched her, she wouldn’t be able to keep the ball in her court. She reached over to place her beer bottle next to Lou’s and then brought both her hands to Lou’s shoulders. Gently but firmly, she moved her hands down her arms until her fingers entwined with Lou’s, planting them back on the edge of the counter.

“Debbie…” Lou muttered in a slightly frustrated tone.

Debbie lifted her lips from Lou’s neck and hovered close to her ear. “ _Wait_ ,” she said softly. Lou hummed something unintelligible that Debbie knew had only slipped out to disguise the whimper threatening to fall out of her mouth. Debbie untangled her fingers from Lou’s, wincing only slightly as she twisted one of her right fingers uncomfortably against the bandage around her knuckles. She ignored the momentary pain and placed her fingertips very lightly against Lou’s jaw. Lou looked up at her, eyes bright and slightly crinkled at the corners, echoing the curious smile on her face, eager to discover the next move of Debbie’s game. Lou’s lips were flushed from where she’d bitten them to prevent moaning, and Debbie’s eyes darted to them once before she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Lou’s.

Lou gasped into her, and Debbie heard a muffled whimper escape from her own throat. She knew without having to look that Lou’s knuckles were white against the edge of the countertop. She moved her fingers slowly down Lou’s neck, toying with the collar of her shirt, which was artfully torn in the front to allow for a calculated amount of cleavage. From this angle, though, Debbie had a full view of exactly how Lou’s necklaces draped in and out of her shirt, some of the chains falling inside to curl against her breasts, others resting modestly over the faded screen print on the front. Debbie allowed herself a glimpse every so often when she broke their kiss temporarily to breathe.

By the time Debbie shifted her hands to the bottom hem of Lou’s shirt and lifted it to brush her fingers against warm skin, Lou’s legs were trembling slightly. Debbie pressed Lou more firmly against the counter, moving her right hand to support the back of Lou’s head as her left traced teasing patterns up Lou’s stomach and ribs to the edge of her bra. Lou’s hips seemed to be moving of their own accord now as she sought friction, and Debbie herself was finding it very difficult to focus on her wandering hands. She could feel the slickness gathering between her own thighs and knew that Lou was even further gone than she was.

“ _Please_ , Debs,” Lou managed to rasp against Debbie’s jaw the next time they broke for air.

“What do you want, baby?” Debbie said, drawing out the game and knowing that the tension would snap at any moment. Lou groaned as Debbie unhooked her bra underneath her shirt, both hands now returning to Lou’s chest and sliding under the loosened cups to squeeze hard. Debbie felt a slight twinge of pity at the feeling of Lou’s already-pebble-hard nipples under her palms.  

“ _Fuck_ me.” Lou’s voice was husky enough to rumble in her chest.

“Get this off,” Debbie ordered, the tremor in her voice diluting her commanding tone as she tugged at the hem of Lou’s shirt. Lou hastened to obey, pulling off shirt and bra in one fluid motion. Her necklaces tangled with one another as they fell back against her bare chest. Debbie kissed her slowly and deeply as her left hand found the fastening of Lou’s tight silver pants and her right arm wrapped around Lou’s back. Finally giving in to the movement of Lou’s hips, Debbie slid her knee between her legs and her hand into Lou’s pants. She bypassed her underwear entirely – she was done teasing, desperate to feel Lou around her fingers.

“You’re so wet, baby, _so_ wet for me. Do you know that?” Debbie murmured against Lou’s cheek.

Lou nodded mutely and whimpered as Debbie’s fingers slid over her, toying with drenched, sensitive skin.

“How many do you want?” Debbie asked, fingers drumming around Lou’s entrance.

“Three,” Lou gasped without hesitation.

Debbie smiled and sank three fingers inside her, fast and deep. The feeling sent an electric current through her own body, spreading outwards from her fingers. Debbie’s nipples were almost painfully sensitive as they brushed against the inner fabric of her bra, and she could swear she was dripping under her tight pencil skirt; the thong she was wearing had long since been compromised. Her hips pressed up against Lou’s left hip and side, and she resisted the urge to part her legs another inch to grind onto Lou’s thigh. But she _had_ made Lou wait, and there was something poetic about forcing herself to do the same. Meanwhile, the additional height from her stilettos created an unfamiliar angle, and Debbie’s wrist began to ache slightly after only a few hard thrusts. She ran her right hand from Lou’s back down to the crease of her thigh and tapped lightly. Lou took the hint and lifted her leg around Debbie’s hip.

Debbie gasped at the change, feeling her fingers sink deeper, her palm now flush against Lou. She leaned her forehead against Lou’s and felt her hot and hurried breath fluttering against her neck and jaw. Her right hand was doing a surprisingly good job holding Lou’s leg in place, and the adjusted position seemed to be working for Lou, too. She was rolling herself onto Debbie’s palm as Debbie’s fingers worked inside her. Debbie glanced down between their bodies and felt yet another wave of molten desire flood her core. She could see Lou’s right hand tightly gripping the side of the counter, knuckles white and muscles flaring in her arms as she supported herself. Lou’s bare chest was flushed pink, matching the color rising in her cheeks. Every so often Lou’s necklaces swung into one of her nipples, and Debbie felt her shiver every time, driving her harder onto Debbie’s hand. The muscles in Lou’s side and stomach quivered in time with the increasing trembling in her thighs, and Debbie pressed herself impossibly closer in a nonverbal reminder that she was secure between Debbie’s body and the counter.

Debbie tilted her head and whispered in Lou’s ear. “Come for me?” The request came out cracked and ragged, and she knew Lou would recognize the evidence of her own arousal in her voice.  

“ _Yes_.” Lou drove herself onto Debbie’s fingers, and Debbie kept her gaze fixed on the movement of her half-clothed body. Lou was making no attempt to contain her whimpers now, and Debbie relished the sounds pulled from her throat. All at once, Lou’s body went stiff, and she was suddenly impossibly tight around Debbie’s fingers. Her muscles released for a moment only to tauten again. The movement repeated several times, and Debbie felt the rhythm against her hand, saw it ripple through Lou’s exposed abdomen. When Lou finally relaxed, her head fell forward onto Debbie’s shoulder, moist breath rumpling the fine fabric of Debbie’s blouse. Debbie carefully released Lou’s left leg and guided her foot back to the floor, unsure of how much weight Lou could support. She kept their bodies close, maintaining enough pressure to steady Lou against the countertop as she regained her composure.

Debbie kept her fingers buried as Lou’s breaths slowed and her head tilted back up to meet Debbie’s gaze. Lou leaned forward this time to kiss Debbie. It was soft and sweet and so very, very warm that Debbie felt her stomach flip pleasurably. Slowly, Debbie pulled her fingers out of Lou and brought them between their mouths, enjoying the sensation of both their tongues sliding over her tingling skin. The taste of Lou’s arousal mixed with the flavor of Lou’s mouth, and the combination was almost overwhelming to Debbie’s senses. Debbie couldn’t get enough of it. She kissed Lou through the gaps between her fingers and only lowered her hand when she could no longer bear to have anything between their mouths.

Lou’s hands finally loosened their grip on the countertop and came up to tangle in Debbie’s hair.  This time, Debbie didn’t protest, wanting – and perhaps _needing_ – Lou to touch her. The ache between Debbie’s thighs seemed to thrum through her entire body, and yet watching Lou had been its own kind of release, a reminder to herself that she _knew_ Lou and _loved_ Lou well enough to give her this. It _did_ matter.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Lou muttered, breaking their kiss with a sigh and leaning her forehead into Debbie’s. Her hands ran through Debbie’s hair.  

“Good?”

“Amazing,” Lou said with a smile that lit her entire face, though her eyes were closed and calm. “I will drink many more martinis if that’s what I get in exchange.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Debbie said through a self-satisfied grin.

“I…really like those shoes,” Lou said in a forcedly casual voice, looking down at Debbie’s feet once more.

“Me too, baby,” Debbie said, planting a warm and lingering kiss on Lou’s cheek. “You can borrow them if you want.”

“Do _you_ want me to?”

“Of course.” Debbie ran her hands up and down Lou’s sides, appreciating the sensitivity of her sated skin as she felt a shiver run through Lou’s body.

“I’m hungry,” Lou murmured into Debbie’s neck after a minute or so of quiet.

“We literally _just_ had lun—”

“I didn’t mean food,” Lou interrupted. Her tongue flicked over the mark beneath Debbie’s ear.

The banked heat in Debbie’s core flared at Lou’s words. “Oh,” Debbie replied. It was all she could manage before Lou suddenly moved and spun her around so that Debbie’s back was now against the countertop. Lou’s hands gripped her firmly, and her thumbs massaged slow circles just inside her hip bones. Debbie moaned, her head flung back as Lou’s mouth moved over her neck yet again. “Yeah, _yes_ , okay,” Debbie said breathlessly, and she felt Lou’s pleased smile against her skin. Lou’s hands moved swiftly to Debbie’s thighs, pushing her tight skirt up over her hips.  

“Up,” Lou said, tapping the countertop.

Debbie raised an eyebrow and lifted her bandaged hand. “Uh…help?” she said through a combination of amusement and arousal.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Lou said. She dropped her commanding demeanor for a moment to help Debbie lift herself onto the edge of the counter. Debbie spread her legs before Lou had to ask, and Lou’s lips parted slightly as her eyes surveyed Debbie’s arousal.

“Like what you see?” Debbie asked, leaning back on her forearms and tossing her hair back with a roll of her neck.

“Always,” Lou said, stepping between Debbie’s knees and placing warm hands on her inner thighs, which were already slick. Debbie spread her legs even wider, the heels of the stilettos clacking on the edge of the counter, and scooted her hips to the very edge. Lou bent forward, back flat and hands kneading the skin of Debbie’s thighs.

“Don’t tease today, baby,” Debbie said, with a slight note of desperation. 

“Oh, I agree,” Lou said in an almost business-like tone. Debbie could feel her breath through and around the scanty fabric of her thong. “You’re _far_ too gone for that.”

Debbie licked her lips and made to smirk, but Lou swiped her tongue over her at the same moment, and she released her last vestige of control. Lou pulled the damp lace of Debbie’s thong to one side with a finger and dipped her tongue inside her. Debbie arched into the contact. She knew she wouldn’t last long like this, not after watching Lou fall apart in her hands. Lou knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure, knew when to add a few fingers into the mix. Debbie’s eyelids fluttered shut, and in her mind’s eye she could see Lou’s tongue working over her, her lips shining and pink, her fingers circling and caressing. Debbie came with a strangled cry and yet another wave of wet heat around Lou’s tongue. She felt Lou’s tongue flick over her once, twice, before retreating. A warm hand replaced Lou’s tongue, cupping her and rubbing soothing circles until Debbie’s whole body relaxed fully and her eyes blinked open once more. Lou removed the stilettos from Debbie’s feet at last and helped her sit up, taking her into her arms with a tenderness that was conceptually at odds with fucking on the countertop. But it worked for them, Debbie thought, smiling into the skin of Lou’s chest, and realizing dimly that she herself was still fully clothed, albeit disheveled. She clutched Lou tightly, rocking slightly back and forth as she matched their breaths. Debbie’s thoughts crumbled into dust, and all that was left was _Lou_.

 

**

 

“You look pleased with yourself,” Lou commented as she pulled back the sheets to join Debbie in bed. The wind had died down at last, and the clouds had shifted out to sea, leaving faint stars beyond the light pollution in the Brooklyn sky.

“This is the face of someone who is about to get a good night’s sleep for the first time since Thursday, so yes,” Debbie concluded, “I’m pleased with myself.” Maybe saying it assertively enough would turn the half-truth into a reality.

Lou smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

“You should be,” Debbie replied, eyes already closed.

“I’m also happy that you seem…well, _happy_.”

Debbie shrugged and then sighed. She couldn’t lie to Lou. “I’m still disappointed,” she admitted, “But I made my decision, and I guess I’m going to have to live with that.”

Lou turned off her lamp and settled her head on Debbie’s shoulder. “I love you no matter what, Jailbird.” She yawned contentedly and rested her left hand on Debbie’s chest above her heart. “Forever.”

Debbie’s eyes opened sleepily and she felt a shy smile twitch at the corners of her mouth, though she knew Lou couldn’t see her face. “I love you, too. Always,” she muttered, so quietly that even a bird sitting on their windowsill wouldn’t have heard her.

Lou hummed contentedly into her shoulder, her body already relaxing into Debbie’s as sleep found her quickly. Debbie closed her eyes again and placed her right hand over Lou’s left on her sternum. She felt the cool texture of Lou’s engagement and wedding rings under her fingertips, inches from her own beating heart. Debbie’s left arm curled around Lou’s shoulders, and she traced idle patterns on her back, letting the soft movements carry her into what she was sure would be a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

**

 

Debbie was back in the mausoleum, but it looked strange, different. She was facing the doors opposite Danny’s name, and when she tried to turn, she found it was impossible. In fact, she couldn't even move her head or look down at her own body. As far as she could tell, she was – as she had been at the start of her very first nightmare – no more than disembodied thought floating in space. Right in front of her, the stone bench upon which she had so often sat was cold and empty. Outside the doors, the day seemed to be warm. The trees were just starting to yellow at the edges: early autumn, then. Everything was quiet except the birds outside and the rustling trees, which were – come to think of it – quite deafening. She had never really noticed them before. The light in the room told her that it was still early morning, probably before the gates opened, but not long before they would. She had often come here around this time of day to sit with Danny and sometimes to talk to him. It felt peaceful.

She heard the rumble of a familiar motorcycle a hundred yards away, and about a minute later, Lou entered the mausoleum, sliding a hairpin into her pocket. She had been right, then, and Lou had needed to pick the lock. But why was she here? Perhaps she was looking for Debbie? But she didn’t seem to be able to see her, even as her eyes seemed to pierce straight into Debbie’s soul. Lou looked tired, Debbie thought, even sad. Her face was thin, almost as emaciated as it had been when she visited Debbie in prison. Debbie had the same urge she had felt on that occasion to reach out and touch her, to hold on so that she didn’t float away with the wind. She was wearing one of Debbie’s button-down shirts and a pair of mustard yellow leather pants with black ankle boots. The thin tie tucked into her blouse was also black, and her customary tangle of necklaces looked more haphazard than usual. Her hair was messy, and her makeup lacked its usual brilliance. Debbie noticed a slight tremor in her hands as she draped her black leather jacket over one arm and stood staring straight ahead as though looking at Danny’s name.

After a time, Debbie realized that Lou’s eyes were angled strangely, as though Lou was focused instead on the name just below Danny’s. Debbie tried to remember what the name was (she must have seen it hundreds of times), but she couldn’t recall the letters – names were Lou’s trade after all, not her own. In her preoccupation about names, Debbie had stopped watching Lou, and when she focused on her once more, she saw a tear trickling down her cheek. A muscle twitched in Lou’s jaw as if she were either trying to stop herself from crying or trying to decide whether or not to say something. Debbie wanted to comfort her, wanted to reach out, but she couldn’t. She had no body here, perhaps no _self_ at all.

The angle of Debbie’s gaze shifted as though she had suddenly been given permission to have a broader view of the mausoleum and its single living occupant surrounded by the dead. Debbie had no control over the movement, but she was now looking at Lou from the side, now from behind. Debbie wanted desperately to fill the seat next to her on the bench, wanted to feel Lou’s warmth, because she herself was feeling chilled. There was a sense of dread growing inside her, as though her body had realized something before her brain had the time to catch up. She looked at Lou’s back. Her shoulders were tense, her back rigid, and even through her shirt, Debbie could see the ridges of her upper spine. She was _far_ too skinny. What had happened? But then she looked past Lou for a moment, towards Danny’s name on the wall, and she saw the thing that something inside her had known was there the whole time: just below Danny’s name, engraved in the same cold marble, the words DEBORAH OCEAN caught the morning light…


	8. Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE
> 
> “If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream…” Midsummer Night’s Dream [V, 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story owns my heart in a big way, and I'm so excited to share the ending with all of you! <3

_Fuck. FUCK._

It was supposed to have stopped. Debbie had made her decision to drive the dreams away with yet another pointless, _meaningless_ project: _statues_. She spat the word to herself. What was the _point_? She always made excuses, told herself that it might come in handy, but it was all a game, really, wasn’t it? A pretense? Perhaps. And yet, it had worked before. In prison, after perfecting the Met Job, she had learned things – area codes, airport codes, Shakespeare, the numbers of tiles on the walls of the communal bathroom – and it had kept her sane and safe, kept her from… _something_ that she had been too afraid to discover. Distraction didn’t suit her, she had told herself. The distracted version of Deborah Ocean had driven Lou away. The distracted version of Deborah Ocean had let herself be fooled by Claude Becker. And _this_ time – these last few days that had been both horrible and enlightening – it was supposed to be under her control, and she had really, _truly_ thought it was. _Well_ , she thought wryly, _this is certainly adding insult to injury._ She had been arrogant enough to assume that the crumbling walls around her soul could always be rebuilt, but perhaps they couldn’t. Lou had called it a midlife crisis, and Debbie was starting to see her point.

 _Oh, Lou_. The Lou in that mausoleum had been far too recognizable, far too real. They’d made their vows to one another almost four months ago, but Debbie had never really thought about what it meant – this whole marriage situation had been so far beyond her vision of herself, so far as to be _ridiculous_. Until it wasn’t. Until it became the most important and obvious thing in her life. Who could blame them if they clung just a little too hard to one another? After twenty years, they owed it to themselves – owed it to the two young women who had met in a dirty Bronx nightclub, owed it to the women who had made promises without even admitting _why_ , owed it to the ten years they’d spent apart, owed it to _all_ of who they had been and were and would be still. _This might be your midlife crisis_ , Lou had said.

There had been close shaves over the years. Armed guards even at small casinos had become more and more prevalent, police could do whatever the fuck they wanted, and – of course – there had always been plenty of people who hated all varieties of Oceans. Lying on her back, Debbie moved her fingers over the scar under her left breast. She knew now why Lou always paid such close attention to it. The scar was a reminder that “forever” and “always” were words coined by people whose lives didn’t look much like theirs. Debbie hadn’t told Lou how close that particular shave had been, but she didn’t need to. Lou had probably known from the moment she saw the scar on their first night together after ten years, months before Debbie had offered her an explanation. The knotted skin was sensitive in places and numb in others – her nerves hadn’t really healed properly, they told her. But she was lucky. Her organs were all intact, though the knife had come very close to her lung and spleen.

She shivered and turned over to nestle into Lou’s warmth under the sheets. Debbie breathed deep, inhaling a combination of the fading scent of the new Tom Ford cologne, the remnants of Lou’s arousal from yesterday (and probably some of her own, too), her hair products and soap, and Lou’s own skin, which smelled like _home_. It was both cruel and cliché for her mind to have shown her _that_ dream, to show her Lou left behind. It was almost farcical in its predictability, really. Debbie rolled her eyes at herself, and tried to manage a cold smirk that no one else could see. She didn’t want it to _get_ to her like this, and yet her eyes were burning again and there was a stickiness on her face that told her she _did_ care. She was at an impasse with herself: hating the chilly, unfeeling persona she had built and clinging to it because it was all she knew.

Restless despite the comfort of the bed, Debbie roused herself and went about the business of getting dressed as quietly as she could. She found an old pair of Lou’s jeans in the closet and pulled them on along with the T-shirt Lou had worn yesterday. It smelled like her, and that was comforting. She threw Lou’s old plaid robe over the top of everything and hesitated at the door. The joints Nine Ball had given her on Sunday were sitting on the dresser. She and pot had never really been a good mix before, but everything was up in the air these days, so fuck it. She tucked one into her back pocket and grabbed Lou’s lighter from her bedside table. The sun hadn’t risen very far over the horizon yet, but the birds were already wide-awake outside. She could hear them chattering as she made her way down to the main floor of the loft and started the kettle. As the water heated, she unwrapped the gauze around her hand and rinsed out the cuts once more. The skin was starting to regrow over her knuckles, but the bruising looked as bad as ever. Still, she decided not to wrap it up again, at least for now. It was starting to feel claustrophobic to have her hand constantly encased in a few layers of gauze.

When the water boiled, Debbie made her tea in the largest of their mugs and let it steep while she gulped down a glass of cold water and three more tablets of Ibuprofen. Then she picked up her steaming cup and headed out the door towards the beach across the road. The air was slightly chilly, but the patches of sun were warm, promising a hot day ahead. Debbie removed her old sneakers once she reached the gravel. The sliding stones were hard under her feet, but the rough texture – almost painful at times – somehow cleared her head. She sat on the cinderblock wall and looked out at the bay. The waves shone dark grey and pale yellow in the early morning light. Debbie realized she didn’t know what time it was, but she guessed somewhere in the five o’clock hour.

She held the warm mug of tea in her hands, watching the bay through the steam rising in front of her face. Debbie couldn’t put her finger on what she was feeling. Blank, perhaps, was the best word for it. She stood in a no man’s land between wanting to be the person she had always shown others she was and wanting to be…what? The person _Lou_ saw in her? Something like that. She was both of those things, she assumed, and also neither of them. It was all so confusing. For the first time in her life, she was _truly_ safe, but she hadn’t realized how much of who she was depended on the instability of her life. She took several long draughts of tea, feeling the liquid heat her body from the inside out, before setting the mug aside and digging the joint and the lighter out of her pocket.

The smoke fluttered in spirals, catching the light breezes traveling across the water. The smell of it blended with the briny scent of the sea, and as she inhaled, Debbie kept her eyes fixed on the water. She tried to memorize the movement of the waves, the trajectories they followed as they bounced from one landmass to another. A breeze that swept in from the Atlantic might bounce a wave off the southern tip of Manhattan, but it had to be a stiff enough wind to act against the outgoing current of the Hudson River. From there, the wave might fling itself back towards Brooklyn to lap at the shore a dozen yards from where Debbie now sat. She pictured the bay as a giant billiard table, with a thousand ever changing contingencies and possibilities.

“I thought weed made you anxious,” a voice called behind her.

Debbie turned to see Lou trudging across the road towards her wearing an oversized sweater, leggings, and no shoes. She tipped the joint towards her in a mock salute. Lou smirked and took the joint from between Debbie’s fingers as she sat down next to her on the rough cinder blocks. Debbie watched Lou take a hit and throw her head back, sending a stream of smoke from between her lips. The sight was quite enough to wipe all thoughts of the waves in the bay from Debbie’s mind.

“Why’d you come out here?” Lou asked, looking Debbie up and down. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

Debbie shrugged. “They’re soft.”

“They’re _old_ , you mean,” Lou said with a grin. “But why are you out here?”

Debbie sighed again. “Not sure,” she said, giving Lou a sidelong, questioning look as though Lou might hand her an answer.

Lou took another hit and then passed the joint back to Debbie, looking at her closely. “What happened, Debs?”

“Did I wake you?” Debbie shot back, avoiding Lou’s question for now.

“I don’t think so, but I never really stay asleep long after you get up.” Lou reached for Debbie’s cup of tea and drank half of it in two swallows. She wrinkled her nose as she lowered the mug and handed it back to Debbie. “I will never understand how you take tea without milk.”

“Well, according to you, ‘Americans don’t do tea.’” Debbie tried to mimic Lou’s accent and got lost on the second word.

“God, don’t _do_ that. I don’t sound like that, do I?”

“No,” Debbie assured her, “you don’t.” She brought the joint to her lips once more and felt the heat in her lungs as she inhaled. She was pleased that – as of yet – it wasn’t making her anxious. It wasn’t doing much of anything, in fact, but at least it was something to do with her hands.

“You look…” Lou trailed off as if trying to find the right word. Debbie caught her gaze with an abrupt, hard look. “…sad?” Lou finished uncertainly.

“I honestly don’t know,” Debbie said with a tiny nod of her head to show she was sincere.

“What _happened_ , honey?” Lou asked again. She took the joint back from Debbie.  

Debbie looked out at the water and sighed. “Another dream,” she said in a weak attempt at a matter-of-fact tone. Lou’s arms wrapped almost immediately around Debbie’s shoulders, and Debbie felt the warm brush of her lips on her temple. Lou handed the joint back to her without taking her hit, and Debbie snuffed it out, figuring they’d both had plenty. With Nine Ball, there was really no telling how strong this stuff was, and they could save the rest for another time.  

“Do you want to tell m—?”

“I was dead,” Debbie said, more loudly than she meant to, cutting off the end of Lou’s question.

Lou let out her breath in a sigh that tickled Debbie’s ear. “Oh.”

“I saw you,” Debbie continued in the same hard voice, “and I…” Her voice shook, and she stopped, her throat clenching over the unspoken words. She felt her shoulders beginning to shake and Lou’s hands brushing over her hair. A sob raked over the back of her throat, and suddenly she was crying as hard as she had the morning before, when she’d woken up to lingering images of Lou dying in her arms. The sounds of the waves on the beach faded to a dull roar, and all Debbie could hear was blood rushing in her ears and Lou whispering beautiful things through the kisses she was planting on Debbie’s forehead. The sobs subsided after what felt like hours, and Debbie peeled her damp face from the fabric of Lou’s sweater. It was somehow surprising to see that the same light was playing across the bay and the same shadows stretched out before them towards the water. Time was weird.

“You thought they would stop,” Lou said with sympathy in her voice. Her cool, dry hands wiped tears from Debbie’s face.

“I…really did,” Debbie said raggedly. Lou winced at the defeat in Debbie’s voice, and looked away across the water. She tucked her right arm around Debbie’s waist and pulled her close to her side. Debbie let her head fall onto Lou’s shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” Lou said quietly.

“Will it? Because you _know_ me, Lou. I can’t survive on less than seven hours per night,” Debbie joked weakly.

“At least you _are_ sleeping.”

“I guess.”

“There are ways to cope with dreams, you know?”

“Not really,” Debbie said with a grimace. “The extent of my dreaming experience has been contained to the last five days.”

“Well, some people can control them, at least a bit,” Lou said, “and if anyone can train themselves to conquer their dreams, it’s you, Debs. You have…well, you’re nothing less than the most intelligent and resourceful person I’ve ever met.”

Debbie shrugged. “I know. Most people say that,” she muttered, trying not to sound bored or dejected.  

“I said you’re ‘nothing _less_ than the most intelligent person’ for a reason,” Lou said. Debbie felt tension in Lou’s jaw resting on her head. “I thought I got it into your head yesterday that you’re also _so_ much more than that. Really, you are. And – I don’t _know_ , Debbie, I don’t – but maybe accepting that might help you.”

“I _did_ believe you, Lou. What you said…I heard you,” Debbie said, concerned by the candor of Lou’s voice. “I _do_ believe you.” Debbie had a feeling that Lou was trying not to scoff. She pulled away from Lou’s shoulder and turned Lou’s face towards hers with a firm hand on her jaw. “I _want_ to.”

Lou’s eyes were hard and bright as she looked back at Debbie, and Debbie knew she was looking for the truth in her face. After a moment, Lou’s eyes softened, and she leaned into the pressure of Debbie’s hand. “I know,” she said through a sigh. She placed a kiss on Debbie’s palm. “I’m sorry to get frustrated, it’s just…I hate seeing you hurting.”

“I love you for that,” Debbie said quietly, “and for everything…and I _will_ try.”

“I know.” Lou brought her hand up to Debbie’s and clutched it tightly, twisting their fingers together. Her eyes looked a little watery as she turned her gaze back to the water. “Dreams are toys,” Lou muttered, so quietly that Debbie could barely hear her over the twittering birds and the lapping waves.

“ _The Winter’s Tale_ ,” Debbie immediately muttered in response.

“Is it?” Lou turned to look at her. “I just heard it somewhere once.”

“Yeah,” Debbie shrugged. “Act three, scene three, line one-thousand five-hundred and thirty-one. I…memorized Shakespeare in prison.”

“By line number?”

“Yup,” Debbie said, enunciating the ‘p’ and – to her surprise – trying to contain a laugh, because the absurdity of it had suddenly struck her.

Lou snorted with laughter and shook her head, eyes twinkling. “Of course, you did.” Debbie smiled and blushed, and then almost tipped over as Lou elbowed her playfully. It felt good to find something funny.

“Five years, eight months, and twelve days is a long goddamn time,” Debbie said through a laugh, “and when you have nothing else to do, even multi-million-dollar jewel heists don’t take very long to perfect. I had plenty of time for Shakespeare.”

“Apparently,” Lou said with a disbelieving shake of the head.

“So, ‘dreams are toys?’” Debbie prompted after several moments of jovial silence.

“Yeah, well, I think it means that you can train your brain to wake itself up, or to _know_ that you’re in a dream so that it isn’t as…real,” Lou explained.  

Debbie narrowed her eyes at Lou. “To be honest, _Winter’s Tale_ makes no sense, so I really don’t know.”

“Worth a shot, though, isn’t it?”

Debbie sighed. “Yes, it is.”

“Debbie, some part of your brain is trying to con you into thinking that you can’t be who you want to be, that you’re bound to one version of yourself or another. Your brain _knows_ how to con, and you’re its mark. So, go in and fix it with your contingency plans and your bullshitting in German and your…I don’t know what else. That part of your brain has control right now, and I don’t even know if the dreams are part of it or just a poorly timed coincidence, but I know you need to teach it a lesson. Teach it to—”

“—to never con a con?” Debbie said through a smirk.

“Yes,” Lou said with a warm smile. Debbie didn’t answer, but she moved closer to Lou, trying to show that she understood, that she really would try. She yawned into Lou’s sweater, suddenly very aware that tiredness was settling into her limbs, whether from the weed or from the restless sleep, she wasn’t sure. “It’s not even six in the morning,” Lou said finally. Her voice sounded far away, as if Debbie was already drifting off. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Debbie nodded, her forehead still pressed into Lou’s shoulder. They walked back to the loft hand-in-hand, Lou carrying Debbie’s shoes in her left hand and Debbie clutching her now-empty tea mug in her right, which was hurting less than it had been yesterday. She was only vaguely aware of Lou tugging her up the stairs, of Lou slipping the robe from Debbie’s shoulders, of gentle hands lifting the shirt over her head and helping her out of the old jeans. Lou’s sweater and leggings added to the pile on the floor. Lou flopped onto the bed on her back and pulled Debbie half-way over her body. Debbie’s head settled on Lou’s upper chest and shoulder, and this time it was Debbie resting _her_ hand over _Lou’s_ beating heart.

“Will you talk?” Debbie asked, voice muffled into Lou’s skin.

“Yeah, of course,” Lou said. “What do you want me to say?”

Debbie yawned. “Oh, whatever you want.”

Lou was silent for the duration of several slow beats of her heart, then she said, “I thought you might be FBI that first night we met – thought I might have picked up a tail.”

“What gave me away?” Debbie mumbled sleepily, her mind now full of that cold alleyway and Lou in a too-tight sequined dress.

“I saw the wads of twenties inside your coat when you pinned me up against that wall.”

“That makes it sound a lot sexier than it was,” Debbie said through yet another yawn.

Lou’s chest shifted as she laughed softly. “I had you in my bed a week later, so I’d say – on balance – it _was_ pretty sexy.”

“It was _cold_ ,” Debbie added.

“Yeah,” Lou agreed, “It was cold.” She tilted her head up to place a fleeting kiss on Debbie’s head.

Lou was silent again, breathing softly, then: “I wanted to say I loved you on the phone when you called me the day before your sentencing.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The line cut out.”

“‘s okay,” Debbie muttered, “I’m sure the Feds were listening in and being a dyke wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Suppose not,” Lou said. Debbie heard the hint of a smirk in her voice, though she could no longer muster the energy to raise her eyelids and see it. She matched her breaths to Lou’s heartbeats for a while and wondered if Lou had dropped off. But then she spoke again. “I slept with Tammy.”

“ _Fuck_ , Lou. _When?_ ” Debbie squinted her eyes open and actually raised her head a few inches before she noticed Lou’s grin.

“I’m kidding,” Lou said with a wink, “I was just checking to see if you were asleep.”

“I hate you.” Debbie let her head fall heavily back onto Lou’s chest.

“You don't.”

“I don’t.” Debbie sighed and felt the calm return. Could she really teach herself to control her dreams? It sounded like a lot of work right now, wrapped in the lazy cocoon of Lou. She couldn’t think about it this close to sleep. She wanted Lou to keep talking, to give her mind something else to do, but Lou seemed to be thinking hard. Debbie could almost hear it.  

“I can’t remember not loving you,” Lou said at last.

The sound of Lou’s voice brought relief, and the words themselves made Debbie smile. “Oh,” she said quietly, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I think the dress you wore to the Met is the most beautiful piece I’ve ever seen.”

“Still have it, baby,” Debbie mumbled.

“I know.” Debbie heard the smile in her voice. Lou’s hand landed gently over hers, and her fingers traced the bruised skin. “I love that you steal watches for me,” Lou whispered after a moment. Debbie felt the edge of the gold Rolex against her own wrist as Lou’s fingers moved in soothing circles over her hand.

“You’re welcome.”

“I love the look on your face when you know something I don’t,” Lou said, “and I _really_ love the look on your face when _I_ know something _you_ don’t.”

“You’re smart.”

“I don’t actually mind when you wear my clothes. In fact, it’s pretty hot.”

“Thought so.”

“I’m sorry we spent ten years apart.”

“Me too.”

“I love watching you listen to Bach because you always look happy.”

Debbie hummed against Lou’s skin.

“Every time you tell me you love me, it feels like the first time.”

Debbie pressed her fingertips gently into Lou’s sternum.

“And I’m so, _so_ proud of you, honey, every time you say it.”

Lou kept speaking, whispering things that Debbie knew – and some things she didn’t – over and over again. Eventually Debbie dropped off, unsure of what she would find in the depths of sleep. She didn’t have a plan, wasn’t entirely sure that even her considerable cunning was up for any sort of battle with her own mind. But Lou believed she could figure it out, and somehow, that made all the difference in the world.

 

**

 

Some days, Debbie learned about statues. Some days, she didn’t. The autumn seemed to pass very slowly, much to Debbie’s delight. The leaves began to turn at the end of September, but it took until the first week of November for everything to be shining red and orange and yellow like fire. Deep in the back of Debbie’s mind, she felt the stirrings of another job, but she didn’t examine the thoughts – not yet. She would wait for the cold and the flurrying snow and the slush in the gutters that was very bad for her expensive shoe collection. On rainy days throughout the autumn, Debbie spread her maps on the stage of the loft and walked between them. It made her feel like a giant, like she could hold the entire city in her hand. The sense of power made her blood sing, and more than once, Lou walked in at just the right moment to end up lying half-clothed at some impossible intersection of all five boroughs with Debbie looking down at her with lust in her eyes and an ache between her thighs. After a while, Debbie noticed that Lou seemed to make a point of appearing on each and every rainy day, always with some half-bullshit excuse, but Debbie didn’t complain. This was _them_ , after all.

Some nights, Debbie dreamed, and for a while, it was hard. It didn’t happen every night (though at times it felt like it), but when it did, the dreams were always nightmares. Nothing was the same twice, which made it difficult (in the moment) for her brain to catch up to the fact that it was dreaming. She would awake sweating or sobbing or clutching at Lou with desperate fingers, and Lou would talk her back to sleep, her low voice wrapping around Debbie like an extra blanket on a cold night. Sometimes even under the spell of Lou’s voice, sleep would refuse to come, and they would talk together with quiet words and with wandering hands and lips on flushed skin. Once in a while, it would be Lou clutching onto Debbie, face contorted against something behind her eyelids, and Debbie would call her back to the reality of their dark bedroom and their entwined limbs. It felt right, though: give and take, push and pull, Debbie and Lou.

One bright morning in late October, Debbie awoke with tears in the corners of her eyes but a smile on her face. She turned onto her side to look at Lou, fast asleep on her stomach and golden in the rippling sunlight reflected off the bay. For several minutes, Debbie watched her sleep, fascinated by the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and by the light pink of her slightly parted lips. When Lou showed no signs of waking of her own accord, Debbie draped herself across her back, slotting one leg between Lou’s thighs and pressing a line of kisses over her left shoulder and up her neck to the spot below her ear. Debbie hovered her lips over her skin, breath shifting the delicate strands of Lou’s platinum hair.

“Baby?” Debbie whispered.

Lou shifted and hummed into her pillow.

“Baby, wake up,” Debbie urged. She brought her right hand to the back of Lou’s head and stroked gently.

“Debs?” Lou said groggily, blinking her eyes open with a look of concern. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I…had a dream,” Debbie said, planting a kiss on Lou’s sharp cheekbone.

“‘m sorry,” Lou murmured sincerely, trying to shift to take Debbie in her arms, but Debbie maintained her position on Lou’s back.

“No, baby, it’s okay. It was…it was a _good_ dream.”

“Debbie, you’re crying.”

“Am I?” Debbie nuzzled her face into Lou’s shoulder, and sure enough, when she pulled back, there was a damp line of tears on Lou’s skin. “Oh,” she said, “I think I’m…relieved. I didn’t think I was cut out for happy dreams, you know?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were either,” Lou replied frankly.

Debbie laughed softly and rolled her hips into Lou’s side. Lou smiled a knowing smile but didn’t say anything. Debbie rolled her hips into Lou again.

“Do you want something?” Lou asked, feigning innocence.

“I’m feeling…really good, baby,” Debbie murmured, not bothering to hide the arousal that was deepening her voice.

“Are you?”

“Mm hm.”

Lou pressed her own hips upward slightly off the bed, and Debbie felt a soft whimper escape from her throat. “Seems like you want something,” Lou commented, still in the falsely-innocent voice.

“I want _you_.”

“I see.”

“I’m _wet_ for you.”

Lou laughed softly. “I can tell.”

“Will you—?”

“Well, since I’m awake,” Lou said with an exaggerated sigh. She raised her hips more firmly this time, and Debbie rolled off her with a satisfied laugh.

“Thought you would,” Debbie teased, raising a hand up to Lou’s face to tug on her bangs.

“But you _did_ wake me up, so…” Lou looked down at her, eyes shining.

“So…?” Debbie repeated, anticipation throbbing between her legs.

“My rules?”

Debbie tilted her head as though considering Lou’s proposition, though her whole body was practically quivering at her words. “Your rules.”    

Lou was meticulous and _agonizingly_ slow. She spent a full ten minutes nipping marks into Debbie’s neck and shoulders before her tongue trailed down to her breasts. She took her time with each until Debbie’s nipples were rock-hard and her hips were rocking desperately against air. Before moving on, Lou kissed up to Debbie’s mouth. She nipped and sucked at Debbie’s lips in a way that would leave them swollen and gloriously sore. Debbie melted against her, hands tangling in Lou’s hair and running down her back.

“No distractions,” Lou said, catching Debbie’s hands and placing them firmly on the bed. “You know the rules.” Lou released Debbie’s wrists with a warning look, and Debbie nodded rapidly.

“I know, I know, I promise,” she whimpered.

Lou’s lips ghosted over Debbie’s, which were tingling and almost painful after the bruising kiss. “You’re so good for me, honey.”

Debbie blushed at the words and felt a current of warmth flow through her body. Debbie dutifully kept her hands on the bed, gripping the sheets as Lou moved down her body. She paused to spend minutes on sensitive spots across Debbie’s ribs, abdomen, and hips. It was torturous: Lou knew how to keep herself just far enough away to ensure that Debbie’s hips couldn’t reach her, knew when to look up through hooded eyes at Debbie’s face, knew when to speak words that had Debbie blushing and whimpering in response. By the time Lou reached Debbie’s thighs, Debbie could _feel_ herself dripping, but Lou still took her time. She carefully bent each of Debbie’s legs and placed the soles of her feet on the bed. She kissed the inside of each of Debbie’s knees, bit and licked her way back and forth between groin and knee in an agonizing rhythm that Debbie loved and hated in equal measure. At last, Lou’s movements stilled and Debbie blinked up at her, silently pleading, breaths coming in shallow pants that made her head spin. Lou smiled calmly at her, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement at Debbie’s distress.

“Ask me,” Lou requested sweetly, but with an edge that wound Debbie even tighter.

“Please, baby,” Debbie whispered, her voice breaking on the term of endearment, “ _Fuck me._ ”

Lou swiped her fingers through Debbie’s arousal, her gentle touches far from enough to satisfy Debbie’s need. “You’re _soaked_ , Debs.”

Debbie arched off the bed as Lou danced a more intentional fingertip over her. “ _Fuck_ , I know. _Christ_ , Lou, just—” Her words turned to a moan as Lou finally obliged, sinking two fingers slowly and firmly into her.

Lou repositioned herself over Debbie, her lips coming up to hover a few inches from Debbie’s own. She swept her hair to one side and bent her head to Debbie’s neck, thrusting into her as her tongue flicked over sensitive skin.

“ _Shit_ , baby, I’m close, I won’t last…” The blood rushing in Debbie’s ears made her own voice sound strange.

“I’ll make sure you do,” Lou assured her, slowing the pace of her thrusts and moving her lips over to Debbie’s. Debbie panted and whined into Lou’s mouth in time with the rocking motion of her hand. Somehow, despite the fire in her blood, it still seemed slow and sweet. And at last, when Debbie thought for sure that she would explode, Lou dipped her lips to Debbie’s ear and whispered, “Let go.”

Debbie rode wave after wave of pleasure in the safety of Lou’s arms, and when she finally settled back onto the bed with a laugh of satisfaction, she felt tears on her face once more. Lou wiped them away and grinned down at her, apparently fully awake now and definitely pleased with herself. Debbie pulled her down into a kiss to wipe the smug look from Lou’s face, but when they broke apart a minute later and Lou settled on top of Debbie, she still looked as cocky as ever.

“You’re…really good,” Debbie admitted.

“Oh, I know,” Lou said, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. She squeezed Debbie tightly, and sighed contentedly. “I love you.”

“Oh, I know,” Debbie said, echoing Lou and placing a kiss to the top of her head.

Lou hummed a laugh. They lay quietly for a while as the light in the room gradually brightened to an almost blinding gold. Debbie could see rough waves on the bay below and the tops of trees bending in a stiff wind. Lou breathed steadily, and Debbie was almost certain she had fallen back to sleep. Debbie was wide awake, but she didn’t want to leave the bed. Somehow, she felt that the spell of the good dream would break if she got up. She couldn’t remember much of the dream, only that she was happy and Lou was there and…bits and pieces flashed before Debbie’s eyes, and she couldn’t prevent a silly grin from spreading across her face. Lou stirred after an hour or so and looked up at Debbie with soft, sleepy eyes.

“So, it was a good dream?” Lou asked through a yawn.

Debbie ran her fingers through Lou’s hair. “Yeah, it was.”

“Was _I_ there? Was it a sex dream? Because judging from earlier…”

Debbie smirked but shook her head. “It wasn’t a sex dream, but you _were_ there.” Lou settled her cheek back on Debbie’s breast with a hum of satisfaction. “To be honest,” Debbie continued, “I was so excited to tell you it was _good_ that I think I pulled myself out of it before anything really happened.”

“You should’ve stayed,” Lou murmured, “You would deserve it, and I would’ve gotten to sleep in.”

Debbie scoffed. “I’ll keep that in mind if it happens again.”

“You better,” Lou said. She bit down lightly on the underside of Debbie’s breast, and Debbie squirmed. “So, what happened?” Lou asked after she had finished a row of love bites on Debbie’s ribs. “Where were you? I’ve heard about all the bad ones, I should get to hear about this one, too.” Lou tilted her head to look up at Debbie. 

Debbie smiled and blushed, averting her eyes.

“What? Is it embarrassing?” Lou prompted.

“No,” Debbie said quietly and deliberately.

“Then _what_?”

Debbie let her eyes dart over Lou’s face for a moment, and then she muttered very quietly, “The Wonder Wheel.” Lou stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing, and the feel of her laughter made Debbie laugh, too. Everything was soft and warm, and though her ribs ached and her eyes stung and her throat was rather sore, Debbie felt stronger and more herself than she had in a very long time.

“I love you so much, baby,” Debbie said breathlessly, when she was finally able to speak, taking advantage of the lowering of her own inhibitions.

Lou’s eyes shone as bright as the baby-blue sky visible through the window. “More than the Wonder Wheel?” she asked through narrowed eyes.

Debbie grinned. “I love you more than a thousand, a _million_ Wonder Wheels.”

Lou grinned back and fell silent for several minutes, rocking Debbie back and forth in her arms every so often as though in time to music that only she could hear. “Debs?” she said finally, looking up at her.

“Yeah?”

“I love you more than anything else in the world.”  

“I know,” Debbie replied, fingertips tracing along Lou’s hairline. “Me too.” The truth was sweet on her tongue, making her feel drunk on the peace of it all.

“We’re okay, honey,” Lou said after a moment. “Dreams and statues and jobs,” she added disjointedly through a yawn. “But we’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Debbie agreed with a smile and a gentle tap to Lou’s nose. “We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EXIT PURSUED BY A BEAR** (and if you get that reference, I will write a Loubbie/Heist Wives/Banter Babes fanfic to a prompt of your choice. Seriously; no joke.) 
> 
> TBH though, I will write Debbie/Lou off any prompt even if you are unfamiliar with the reference above. Feel free to throw ideas in the comments or hmu on Instagram :) <3 
> 
> "Dreams are toys" in the context of Winter's Tale really doesn't mean what Lou thinks it means, but w/e I don't think she would care. After all, she's a Cate Blanchett character and not *actually* Cate Blanchett. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this work and who left comments and kudos. You inspire me, and I love you (so does my mom - she reads the comments. Don't worry, she's cool.) 
> 
> I am working on a one-shot series, which will be coming soon to your Debbie/Lou feed. Definitely subscribe to my username, if you want to be the first to know when it comes out. I should be posting the first part by the end of the week.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments roll my world! <3 :) 
> 
> The title comes from Hamlet (II, 2). I get all my Shakespeare quotes from the Open Source Shakespeare database.
> 
> Also, you can find me on Instagram (hope_savaria) if you want to chat anytime. My dm's are always open. :)


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